


Get Out Alive

by He11sDomain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Friendship/Love, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Overprotective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/He11sDomain/pseuds/He11sDomain
Summary: Sam works as a prostitute and waiter in a gay strip club. His life has been hell and, one day, Dean and John show up at the strip club to investigate some murders. How is Sam involved in their latest hunt? And what of Sam's past? Is he still in danger? Contains rape. Limp!Sam, Protective!Dean,John. AU.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

I've had this AU storyline for too long, and finally decided to put pen to paper. I hope you enjoy ^_^

XxXxXxXxXxX

I checked myself in the mirror one last time, running hands down my thighs to push off any stray specks of dust. The manager Daniel Coleman was very particular about his employees' appearance, and perfection was imperative. It was, in all aspects, a troublesome requirement, and I cursed when I noticed the faintest rip of my sleek pants.

But, of course, due to the nature my job, the need for physical excellence was not altogether unexpected. I worked in a strip club called The Ramrod—a very fitting name since it was for gay males. It was a tiring occupation and, now, one I had no choice but to pursue. I didn't like it; it actually pissed me the fuck off, but it's not in my nature to complain. As long as I got the money, I'd do the job.

My pants were tight, black leather, showing off every curve and chunk of muscle I had in my legs. Instead of a shirt to cover my torso, I was left nothing but a black collar and a gold chain hanging from its center. With every step I took, the chain knocked against my chest and stomach. It was meant as a sign of subservience for our customers. Daniel Coleman knew very well our clientele catered to domineering perverts. He wanted to portray us as as servants, and them as masters. Either way, I'd gradually gotten over the humiliation and, now, it was primarily a nuisance.

Through the mirror, I watched as two drunken men stumbled into the bathroom, their bodies nearly melded into one as their sloppy mouths sucked on swollen lips and heated skin. The smaller man tripped as he walked backwards, and it sent them both tumbling in a heap on the ground.

This had no affect on their sexual performance, though, and clothes were being thrown off in haste. One of them beckoned to me with a finger, his voice slurring as he said, "Come on, join us and have some fun," I decided then would be a good time to take my leave.

I discreetly exited the bathroom—not cowardly, I told myself—and made my way to the main room.

The Ramrod attracted nearly every gay male within a fifty-mile radius and, like any other day, there was a large crowd, men bustling about and eagerly groping at employees' man parts. It was a daily humiliation, and I walked through the rows of congested tables, trying to dodge the few I could, and gritting my teeth at the ones I couldn't.

Overall, there had to be about forty tables, all clumped together in the center of the room. Around them were three rows of booths, one set behind the tables, and two sets on the left and right of them, backed up against the wall. The booths were cushioned and more comfortable, but were farther from the stage and therefore not always a customer's first pick.

On the other side of the tables, at the very front of the spacious room, was the stage the strippers danced on. It was big, beaming with bright lights and beautiful male dancers. It was a very well-liked attribute of The Ramrod, and it wasn't difficult to understand why. With the exotic dancing and sparse clothing, any true pervert couldn't help but appreciate it.

However, the man I was currently serving, William Hudson, was never here to watch the strippers.

Having reached the man's booth, I brought out my notepad and pen. "Good evening, sir. Is there something you would like to accompany your entertainment this evening?"

Hudson's smile was lewd, and I immediately regretted my wording. Some people took things more perversely than others.

He purred, "I could think of a couple of things. However, I'm unsure which 'entertainment' you're referring to. Could you enlighten me?"

I felt my eye twitch. A foolish question, considering the half-naked men lewdly dancing on the stage behind me. I had a fairly good comeback for it, but I did everything I could to push down. Three months ago, our old manager had been fired for raping some of our employees. All things considered, I had been expecting a vast improvement after he got let off, but I was wrong. Very wrong.

Daniel Coleman, a thirty-year-old rich businessman, took his place, and very clearly reminded me of Satan's brother, if the bastard even had one. Six days after his arrival the strip club acquired the new policy, "if any worker of this establishment treats any patron unkindly, the latter is allowed a 24-hour compensation for any misconduct or discourteous acts." Of course there was always the fine print, like "this does not include being reimbursed with money, food, material goods, or business advertisement." In a place like this, the only logical repayment was a free fuck.

But, considering it's for a full day, it'd be several free fucks.

The policy is written in bold print near the entrance to the club, and I knew well enough that all the customers saw it. Hell, they did their best to test us, prodding and probing us like pretty specimen under a microscope until, finally, we break.

Break but don't get put back together.

It annoys me when I find ill-fated, fictional characters have such a similar storyline to my own life. We all know Humpty Dumpty had taken quite the fall, but at least his pain only lasted as long as the film was playing. Once the kids got bored of him, they turned off the TV and left the guy in peace. Me? You can't put me on pause, and I'll feel the effects of the fall until I finally escape from this hellish place.

Or die trying.

My mouth twitched into an obviously not-so-happy smile as I turned to the side and gestured to the stage. "Well, there's a lovely display of male dancers behind me if you'd like to observe."

Hudson didn't seem impressed, and he tapped an immaculately manicured finger on the booth's table. "When do I get to see you up on that stage?"

I gave him another false smile. "I'm afraid I can't do that, sir; I'm merely a waiter."

Aside from being horny, Hudson had a nearly permanent scowl on his face. He was probably in his mid-forties, with slightly greying hair. He was thinner than many of our customers, but very muscular for his age, and had a presence that said he could beat the shit out of anyone who challenged him.

The concern I had for my safety was obvious when he stopped looking horny and gained a very displeased look. He reached out a thick hand, and I turned my head, preparing for a punch. The hand landed on the front of my pants, his palm grazing purposefully along my crotch.

I let out a small moan, and immediately cursed myself after. Usually I'd be able to reel them in but, out of surprise, I had let it escape.

Hudson's smirk was sinister. "You like that?" He poked and prodded harder. "I thought someone like you would. Such a slut."

Also according to Coleman's rules, we're not allowed to refuse the customers' advancements, so long as there was no "removal of garb or physical penetration." Basically, this bastard could keep his hand on my dick until the cows came home and the pancakes flipped themselves before there was a damn thing I could do about it.

Just like the fucking streets.

Hudson's big hand grinded harder against my leather-clad crotch, and I wondered if subtly scooting back a step would still be considered denying the customer. Because, I mean, this guy was distracting as hell and I couldn't do my work properly, so…it'd work, right?

I grit my teeth and deliberately looked down at my empty notepad, ignoring the groping limb. I knew better. The manager would flip his shit and inevitably punish me. I'd only been "punished" once—six weeks and three days ago; it had been degrading, humiliating, fucking scary, and had stirred in me what is now my biggest phobia. I'd take this man's hand on my crotch over that any day.

I tapped my pen on the notepad, growing impatient. "So what will it be, sir?"

"Your tight, sexy asshole."

The reason I'd gotten a real job in the first place was to escape from these sorts of situations. By becoming a waiter, I had been hoping to give myself a small reprieve from my other, less legal and more physical occupation. I didn't like to give it a name, what I did in the dark alleys and dirty corners of deserted streets. It was disgusting, and it was hard, but it served its purpose and I'd keep doing it until I could finally dig myself out of this pit. Like hell I was going to stay in this shitty town forever. Life dealt me these cards and I'd be damned if I didn't get myself a straight-flush one of these days.

My eyes narrowed, and I couldn't stop the blunt, "Not for sale," that passed my lips.

Though, of course, technically, that was a lie. My ass did have a price tag slapped on it, but it wasn't for sale at the moment.

Hudson yanked at the chain around my neck, bringing our heads at equal height. Having my chain being pulled every day made the collar around my neck inevitably tighten, leaving me with what now seemed like permanent bruises. Hudson was always one of the ones that made sure I knew my position in life, so his tugs were always especially brutal.

Being the well-paying customer he was, I didn't glare, but I wasn't giving off any particularly friendly vibes, either.

I–gently, Sam, gently—grasped the man's hand in my own and encouraged it to unwrap itself from around the chain. I didn't kid myself into believing I could use force to get him off me; not only was he twice my stature and thrice my muscle, but he'd tell the manager. He'd exaggerate my wrongdoings and inevitably get me "punished." And, since denying a customer inevitably meant I was being discourteous to him, Hudson would definitely get himself a 24-hour plaything.

Fuck, who was I kidding? Life wasn't fair; it never gave me a set of cards. It threw them in the shredder then laughed in my face when I lost the game.

Thankfully, Hudson reluctantly removed his hand, placing it back on the table.

I clicked my pen. "Is there anything you would like, sir, preferably from the menu?"

Okay, that had been borderline rude, but I liked to think I had a right to be. Fortunately enough, Hudson didn't disagree. He looked annoyed, but, again, reluctantly complied. "No." As he clucked his tongue, I waited for him to say more. "However, I would like to know what time you're off today."

So it was like that. He was one of the few customers that knew I wasn't just a simple waiter at a gay bar.

"Ten." Hudson only nodded, and I subtly turned away from him. "Now if you'll excuse me..." I didn't leave just yet, silently waiting for the permission I had to have.

He waved his hand as dismissal, and I took my leave, moving to a booth that had just been filled by two men with similar features. Father and son, maybe? It seemed odd they would want to share a family moment at a gay bar, but I was in no position to judge and, frankly, I didn't care either way.

"Hello, sirs," I greeted as I held out my pen and notepad. "Is there something you would like to accompany your entertainment this evening?"

They stopped what appeared to be an intense conversation, and they turned to look in my direction. Noticing my outfit, their cheeks immediately flamed bright red, and their gazes left me to instead burn holes into the table in front of them.

I've never received such a reaction, and I barely cocked my head to the side as I watched them. It seemed obvious that this place was not their preference of entertainment. I couldn't help but wonder what in the world they were doing here.

The younger one spoke, "Uh, no, no, we're good." I was about to request permission to leave when he continued. "But, uh…" His cheeks were still tinted red as he tried to portray a somber look. "I was wondering. Has anything, I dunno, strange happened around here recently?" He looked up at that to scrutinize my reaction, but made sure to keep his gaze on my eyes. I looked into his, seeing green eyes noticeably similar to my own, maybe a shade lighter.

My eye twitched spastically. "I got my chain stuck on the statue of a penis last Tuesday."

Their faces flushed red again, and this was beginning to be enjoyable. Their reactions were priceless. The same younger man coughed into his hand. "N-No, nothing like that. I mean, like around this club, people you work with, things you've seen. My partner and I are investigating the deaths of two men in town, both of which worked in this club. Do you know if there'd be anyone with enough motive to want them dead?" He raised his hands in inquiry. "Maybe the victims had enemies?"

Yeah, I knew them both. Jake Howard and Tony Paulo. I wasn't particularly close to either of them—in fact, they pissed me the fuck off—but I couldn't imagine anyone crude enough to want them killed.

Except me. But, I knew I didn't kill them.

"I'm assuming you're both cops?"

Nearly in sync with one another, they flipped out their badges, held them out—Dean and John Vester were their names—then pushed them back into their pockets. All done within a second. Impressive.

I shrugged, giving them my best nonchalant expression. "Yeah, I knew them. They were conceited as hell, but not enough to die for it."

These two cops seemed to see through my façade, and opened their mouths to question me further. Before they could speak, a firm hand grabbed my ass, squeezing tightly. The Vesters' eyes burned with emotion as they stared at the culprit behind me, and I turned to see Leo standing there.

Leo was a very devote customer, coming to The Ramrod every day, and every day requesting me as his waiter. I'd be flattered, if he didn't have such sadistic kinks that made my stomach flip just thinking about them. His hair was balding prematurely and his thin figure belied his startling physical strength. His smirk was sly and hungry, and I had a feeling he'd fuck me right into the table if it wouldn't get him kicked out of the club. He's tried before.

"When you get off work, sugar? I wanna have some funnn," he purred into my ear before biting it. With one hand occupying my ass, he situated the other firmly against my crotch. He pushed them hard into my skin from both sides, as if hoping that, if he pressed hard enough, they could end up meeting in the center of my body.

I grit my teeth, trying to look emotionless. This man was not someone I wanted to meet on the street again. "Midnight."

Leo gave my neck a long swipe with his tongue, chuckling in anticipation. "I'll be waiting for ya."

Graciously, he left, giving my ass and crotch one last squeeze before heading back the way he'd come. The release of his hands almost made me sag to the floor in relief, and the younger Vester reached an arm out to steady me. 

I took a step back from the booth, more out of embarrassment than anything else. This was my life, this was my purpose--to be fucked and fucked with. 

But, I still couldn't get fully used to it. And in the presence of 2 cops, just 2 guys trying to do their job and not get a fucking porno acted out in front of them. Fuck. Embarrassing. 

I wiped at the saliva dripping down my neck and finally addressed the table I'd been serving. While their cheeks still had that tinted pink, their eyebrows were downturned and expression grim. People have been protective of me before, but it was always short-lived. Only Greg cared about me. That was okay, that's the only friend I need. 

"Are you okay, kid? You know him?" 

If anyone else had witnessed that they'd be drooling or reaching to touch by now. These two looked so innocent. If it weren't for their jobs, they'd probably never step foot in a seedy place like this.

I smooth out my leather pants as if it was the absolute most crucial use of my time. "Y-Yeah, I'm okay. I...work for him." No reason to go into specifics. Someone please change the subject. 

The older one, thank god, seems to read my mind. "So, do you know of anyone who would hold a grudge on these two men? Enough to murder?"

"Sam. Sam!"

Goddamn, it was always something with these people.

The grating voice, all too familiar and all too dreadful, sent shivers up my spine. It came from across the entire span of the overly spacious room, passed numerous booths, tables, and small-scale statues of naked men, yet it still had that affect on me.

Coleman, the manager, was flailing an impatient hand through the air, his expression indefinable—as it most often was unless during "punishments" or sex. It was scary; with his face always appearing indifferent, you never knew what shit you were in until you were waist-deep in it.

My quivering hands tucked my pen and notepad back into the back pocket of my tight pants, and I bowed lightly to the Vesters. "I'm sorry, sirs, it appears I'm being called. Please excuse my dismissal."

The two looked hesitant, glancing over at Coleman in uncertainty. The younger one looked more upset, and part of me was expecting him to voice his disapproval. I was kind of impressed. They were cops; maybe they were smart enough and good enough to read Coleman's expression as well as me. And I've known him for months. 

The younger one opened his mouth, I'm sure to protest, but I turned before he could speak, walking in the direction of the manager. I knew better than to leave Coleman waiting.

Once I finally reached him, I bowed low at the waist, hands respectfully clasped together but not hindering the view he had of my bulge.

Leather should just go to hell.

"Hello, Master Coleman. May I serve you?" I asked in my sweetest voice, returning to full height and putting my hands behind my back with feet side-by-side.

Like Hudson, Leo, and every other customer in this joint, Coleman had a keen, nearly possessive fetish for my body. He and I have a mutual agreement: I let him fuck me during job hours, and he doesn't tell the customers about my private life and newly established phobias. While I'm ecstatic no one will be finding out anytime soon, I'm not a fan of blackmail, and it's annoying that I'm the only one he's "punished" so far. The bastards in this joint sure are bias.

Coleman let out a rare display of emotion, a lustful smirk surfacing to the top. So that's why he called me over. He wanted me now?

He took one step to the side, gesturing to his office and open door. I took a deep breath, knowing what was about to come. I just have to get through it. I just have to get through it. Don't fall apart. Survive. 

I can feel the Vesters' gaze on my back. I had enjoyed their company, I hope they find what they're looking for.

My sessions with Coleman last...hours. The only thing I'll be finding is shame, despair, and enough self-loathing to make me want to die. 

XxXxXxXxX

I do apologize it was a bit slow and there wasn't too much Sam/Winchesters interaction. Thankfully, this story is aallll about them and their evolving relationship, so it'll get better. :) 

If you have the time, I'd greatly appreciate feedback. If not, thank you nonetheless for reading! Next chapter should be up Thursday or Friday. 

Thanks all! :)


	2. Chapter 2

And the story goes on!

XxXxXxX

I lay on the bed, panting and wheezing from the aftermath of heavy bouts of sex. My position was fully beneath Coleman, making it difficult to breath. I wheezed, trying to push him off me. His sweat was lingering uncomfortably with my own, and I nudged him with an elbow.

"I gotta go, I'm off the clock now." I had glanced at the clock and it was nearly 2am. Hudson would be upset he couldn't see me tonight. Coleman still hadn't moved, and I was growing desperate.

Coleman's penis was still lodged very unpleasantly inside me, and one of his arms was wrapped so tightly around my torso it felt like a snake constricting my lungs. "S-Sir, I need to go." Please god.

Finally he grunted, and thankfully was too tired to discipline me. He pulled out, and there was a disgusting sloshing noise as we parted, his semen dripping out of me.

Coleman laughed disgustingly. "Your body is a whore even after it's been satisfied."

Coleman was a prosperous man with very high demands, and had a bed installed into his office immediately after receiving the job. It wasn't the first time I wished we could just do it on the floor. Having sex in bed felt too…intimate.

Finally free, I got into a sitting position and grabbed my pants that had been thrown onto the ground. I squeezed my legs through the pants legs; the pants were merciless in their constriction, ten sizes too small for my thin body. I managed to zip it up, the leather material pressing uncomfortably against my skin.

Coleman continued to watch from the bed as I tugged on my knee-length boots, which made me a good inch taller. I didn't know how women fit their feet in five-inch high heels and still walked around in them, but this was my limit.

Before I could escape his long range, Coleman grabbed my chain, which I wore even during sex, and pulled me into a crushing lip lock, his tongue brutally assaulting my own.

"I hope to see you tomorrow," he said huskily after releasing me.

The first tendril of fear ran through me. "I-I don't work Fridays, Master."

His teeth grinded together, and I knew why he was angry. He wanted to see me in that stupid cat outfit.

When Coleman first became manager, he had wanted one day of each week to be dedicated specifically to his cat fetish. The customers were thrilled and, because of such positive feedback, his tradition stuck. Gradually, the costumes became sluttier, and soon the chant "hail the tail" came into play, the reasoning behind it one I did not care to share.

While Coleman did not verbally complain about my absence, I could tell it was grating on his nerves quite a bit, particularly now. He grabbed my wrist, pulling me closer to him. "I'm getting quite annoyed with how you are consistently avoiding my Fridays." I swallowed. I could feel an ultimatum coming on. "You will come tomorrow in full costume or you're fired." His eyes glinted with malice, and I knew he'd do more than fire me. He'd be the utter ruin of me.

I had suspected it would come to this, but that didn't mean I wasn't immensely disappointed. "Yes, Master Coleman."

His responding grin looked tremendously satisfied, and gave a victorious nod. "Good. Now leave me."

I obeyed without hesitation, stepping out of his office and closing the door behind me. Out of sight, out of mind.

Fuck. If only that were true.

My body instigated a slight limp as I walked down the small hall, the uncomfortable ache in my lower back and ass hard to ignore. He had experimented with a few...instruments tonight, and part of me wondered if his technique involved trying to saw me in half. He has been getting more and more creative, and it was scaring me.

I made it back to the main room and the first thing my eyes land on is the Vesters, the 2 cops from earlier tonight. They were still at their booth, and eyes grave as they noticed me the same moment I noticed them.

Why...why were they still here?

I swallowed, not having a clue what to do with this piece of information. Regardless, I was in no condition to approach them. I really didn't want to feel any more ashamed than I already did right now.

I masked my limp more, bearing the pain, and I rushed to the other side of the large room. I nearly heaved a sigh of relief when I finally arrived at the door labeled "Employees Only." Entering, the small room was like a boys' locker room, both sides lined with gray lockers, one on top of another, with two benches in between. Closing the door behind me, I saw Greg, one of the male strippers here and the only person I could call my friend. His pitch-black hair was short and gelled. It gave off that "effortlessly beautiful" look and I always told him so just to see him smile.

Unlike me, Greg didn't mind working here. He was openly gay, told me numerous times he had a crush on me—only because he knew it annoyed me—and ever since he was a kid he'd wanted to be a dancer. Albeit, the dancing here was a lot more provocative with a lot less clothing but, somehow, Greg never seemed to care. He graced every day with a smile, and I couldn't say the same for myself.

I think the streets were what really deteriorated me, physically and mentally, and every day Greg went home to loving parents and a sweet little sister. They didn't particularly care for him being a stripper but, ever since he turned eighteen, they accepted whatever decisions he made and loved him no less.

Sometimes I felt spiteful toward Greg, but only when I was having an especially bad day. I didn't _mean_ to be jealous, but his happy nature and kind words sometimes struck a cord in me I didn't know I had. It just made me so… _depressed_.

Thankfully, today was not one of those days. My envy of him was almost always overcome by my sincere enjoyment in being in his presence. I headed to my locker and waved to him in greeting, which he responded to by rushing up to me and giving me a massive hug, swinging me around in his grasp.

"Hey Sam!" he exclaimed, sounding genuinely happy. He was able to lift me off the ground several inches, and I could barely wrap my arms around his broad, muscular back. His size would have been slightly intimidating if I didn't know he was such a teddy bear.

"Hey Greg," I said, thankful when he finally released me. He really didn't know his own strength.

I made it to my locker, entering in the pin before gathering my real clothes. Greg hadn't yet moved back to his own locker, and I could still distinctly feel his gaze.

His voice did a complete 180, once happy and ecstatic, now sad and somber. "I saw Master Coleman call you back to his office. Did he…"

I knew Greg didn't like putting what I did it into words either, so I saved him the trouble. "Yeah."

A felt another hug as his arms wrapped around me from behind. "I'm sorry."

I moved my hand to barely squeeze the back of his neck. I just wanted to get out of here. "I'm fine."

He released me, moving to stand by my side. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"…Unfortunately."

He seemed surprised, eyes distressed. "Alright. The costumes are in that locker," he said as he gestured to the far locker. "It's going to feel uncomfortable, but you'll get used to it after a while."

I was dreading the moment I came into work Friday, but I nodded in understanding.

I asked, "Do you have to wear it as well?"

Greg gave me a guilty smile. "No. The only cat attributes the dancers get are paws and ears. Anything else and it'd hinder our movement."

I pouted, but didn't complain. It wasn't Greg's fault, so there was no reason for hostility.

I took off the deplorable collar around my neck and slipped out of the leather pants. It was against the rules to wear underwear, but I'd exposed my body so many times, to Greg and others, that he was far used to it by now.

I stuffed my uniform into the small locker, then began the process of putting on my normal apparel: boxers, faded and torn jeans, thin t-shirt, and tattered shoes. With everything accounted for, I turned to see Greg still standing there, having yet to remove his cowboy boots and stripper G-string.

Sometimes he'd throw off the G-string at the end of his performance, always enjoying the anticipated hoots and hollers that arose from the crowd. It kept him unpredictable, and it kept customers coming for more.

"Are you okay?" I asked him, because he wasn't usually spaced out; he was that "live life to the fullest" kind of guy.

"Are you going out on the streets today?"

I looked away, nodding. When we first became friends, I had thought his aversion for my less reputable job was because he thought it was disgusting, making me just as much so. Thankfully, I knew better now.

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid, okay?" There he went getting all serious on me again. Where was the real Greg? The carefree, I'm-going-to-rip-off-my-G-string-because-it-makes-people-happy guy?

Greg knew what I did on the streets. He didn't like it, but he never complained. As he spoke, he looked pained, and his eyes were spangled with intensity. "Please, remember you're always welcome at my house, any time and any day. I love you."

I nodded with a small but genuine smile. He was such a good friend. He said it so earnestly that I was tempted to accept the offer. But his family was poor, living in more of a small cottage than a house, and I knew better than to think they had the money or means to take care of me.

Greg didn't know this, but half the money I earned on the streets went into a separate stash I saved for him and his family. His mom was crippled, and his dad was a failed businessman now working as a cashier at a fast-food place. When I finally save up enough to get myself off the streets, I'll give it to them, and they'll feast like kings.

I smiled at that, and said my goodbyes to Greg before kissing him on the cheek. Exiting the dressing room, I absently turned to the booth John and Dean Vester had been occupying, surprised to see it empty. Did they find what they were looking for?

Had they...been waiting to make sure I was okay?

I shook my head of the thought. They were on the job, they wouldn't allow themselves to be interrupted by a sex worker like me. I exited the club, not particularly enthused to continue my night job. The cycle repeated itself day after day, but that didn't make it any less painful.

And it was a whole fucking world of pain.

XxXxXxXxX

I was pressed hard against the cold ground, the rough cement scraping painfully against my cheek. This alleyway reeked of vomit and semen, and I usually tried to avoid this area when I could.

Didn't work out too well this time, did it?

Hudson was the first of the night, and had complained about my prolonged absence the second I stepped out of The Ramrod. All that pent up stimulation was taking its course now, though, and he grunted loudly as he thrust back inside from behind. I grit my teeth painfully and tried not to make a sound. It was a horrible feeling, this vulnerability of lying helpless under another man.

I dealt with it as best I could, though, which meant not dealing with it at all. What else could I do besides take it? I needed the money and was out of options, so, for that cause, I'd do my duty. I'd make like a doll and be his toy.

He finished with a loud groan, and I winced as the sticky liquid began to drip out of me. He couldn't wait until after he pulled out to cum? God…

Hudson zipped up, throwing a wad of cash on the ground. "I want you again tomorrow. Don't be late this time," he said before walking away.

I curled my legs into my chest, allowing myself a moment to feel like an utter wimp. I felt the cold ground beneath me, the wind cutting through my too-thin jacket. It was dark outside, when normal people were snuggled at home watching television and putting their kids to sleep. Meanwhile fuck-ups like me were taking it up the ass and drowning in their own thoughts of what "normalcy" meant.

What would it even be like to be normal? To not rely on the darkness to hide your true colors? Could I ever one day walk in the daylight, happy and healthy and carefree?

Could I ever live that life?

I could feel wetness form in my eyes and I blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall. I pushed myself into a kneeling position, gathering my scattered clothes with shaky limbs. Hudson always paid extra to take me completely naked, and I lifted my shirt above my head, draping it over my torso.

Fully clothed, with shoes on and laces tied, I stood, looking for my next patron. I walked through the dark streets, a sense of loneliness engulfing me.

How did I end up like this?

I heard laughing and abruptly looked up from my daze. It was coming from ahead of me, and I tried to focus my eyesight to see the shrouded voice.

They were across the street, a gang of four, burly-looking men who looked like they'd just come from a late-night bar. They were laughing and drunkenly hitting each other.

Eyeing the group, I discreetly stepped into an alleyway, hiding in the shadows. One guy at a time I could do, but playing with more made it damn difficult to receive payment after purchase. It stopped being prostitution and...fuck. No. It doesn't matter, that's not happening.

"Hey, who is that?"

I froze in place, eyes wide. _Fuck._ They'd seen me?

I heard footsteps and I could see them walking in my direction. I could see them notice me.

"Damn, he's pretty."

Another responded by cracking his knuckles, eyes hungry. "Yeah, I bet we could fuck him up real good."

I turned and ran, my heart beating harshly against my chest. I could hear their deafening footsteps echoing behind me, and it only encouraged me to move faster. For drunken men, they were suddenly awfully sober.

Either way, I was hoping my smaller size would be advantage enough to outrun them.

I passed the left I'd been planning to take, instead waiting until the next block to make my turn. With this route, I may be able to lose them once we reached the fence. It was tall, and I'd gradually learned to climb over it with ease. Hopefully they couldn't do the same.

Their shouts only increased in volume, and I hurriedly vaulted over the fence, landing on my feet and immediately on the run again. I glanced back to see two of the four had done just as well as I did, the other two a bit slower, and I gulped. What was I supposed to do? What the hell was I supposed to _do?_

I was in sight of The Ramrod now, and there was no one lingering at the entrance. Gods, if this had been one of the days Greg worked late I might have been able to catch him.

I was getting tired, my ass ached, and keeping up this grueling pace hurt like hell. I grit my teeth in internal dispute, conflicted. Should I keep running?

I hated myself more than ever as I gradually slowed down, into a jog. Gods...the sooner we started the sooner we finished.

I have never hated myself more than I hate myself right now. Admitting defeat, not even trying to escape my fate. 

Coward.

One of the guys from the gang rammed into my back, forcing me into the ground. Hastily, he tore at my clothes, and I heard a distinct ripping sound. I offered no resistance. I'd gotten into these situations more times than I could count with both hands and feet, and no matter how fast I ran, or how hard I tried, the result was always the same. Maybe this message applies to everything in life. No matter how hard you try, you're always going to fail.

I'd been so intent on getting out of this life, getting out of this town, but maybe I should just quit that, too.

I laid silent on the ground with closed eyes, only hoping he'd finish quickly so we could move on to the next one.

XxXxXxXxX

"Hey!" My closed eyes twitched. "Hey, wake up!"

I felt a prodding on my shoulder, and I very reluctantly opened my eyes. Hovering over me was a familiar face, and it took me a moment to put a name to the face. Dean Vester?

"Wh…What?" Dazed, I rubbed a palm against my eye. I moved to lean up, and I felt a strong hand wrap around my forearm, guiding my torso gradually upright. My instinct wasn't alarmed of any danger, and I took the time to freely inspect my surroundings. It was still dark outside, not even dawn, and I was sitting naked on the cold ground in front of The Ramrod. Dean wasn't wearing a jacket, so I could only assume it was his that was now draped over my waist.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked.

Past events rushed back to me, and I couldn't help but feel ashamed of myself. I didn't keep fighting, didn't run until escape was impossible. I just let them have me, for _free._

I groaned in self-loathing, plopping back down onto the floor. I rested an arm across my eyes, shielding myself from the cruel world.

"Hey, hey kid. Sam."

I grunted. "I'm fine, now leave me alone."

Gods, I couldn't believe I let this happen. Greg would be so disappointed.

"Listen kid, you don't _look_ fine to me."

I removed my arm to look up at him, and I could see the warring anger and concern clearly on his features.

Once he saw he had my attention, he pointed to my chest, poking a prominent bruise, hickey, above my nipple. Below that were four long fingernail scratches. Looking at the rest of my torso, I only saw more of the same. I groaned. I knew better than to think I could hide this at work tomorrow.

"What time is it?"

Dean seemed surprised, but looked at his watch. "4:40. Why?"

"Why are you walking around here this early in the morning?"

Again, he looked surprised, but easily countered it. "I could ask you the same thing."

Too bad I didn't feel obligated to answer that. I didn't want his sympathy or his pity, so there was no reason to tell him. "Touché," I responded without enthusiasm.

He didn't look pleased with my retort, but willingly helped me back into a sitting position. He even rearranged the jacket around my waist to ensure it fully covered me. How fucking sweet.

"Where do you live?" he asked, "I'll take you home."

Seeing as how I didn't want his sympathy, I only said, "I don't need your help." I tried to stand, hissing when I felt pain shoot through my ass and calf. The ass pain was expected, and I looked down to see blood flowing freely from a deep scratch on the back of my leg. I ignored the pain as I often do, and finally stood fully erect, letting the jacket fall from my waist. I looked around and found my clothes, each scattered in a different place. I tried my best not to limp as I scooped up my shirt, which was completely torn down the middle, then found my boxers which were, thankfully, unharmed. My jeans were another matter—maybe cut up with scissors?—so I dug the money out of the pockets—thank gods it was still there—and left the rest to rot on the ground. I put the money in one of my shoes, then tugged them both on my feet.

"Have a nice day," I said before turning away. Yeah, maybe I'd sounded a little sarcastic, but, all things considered, I had a right to be nasty. My ass hurt like hell, my calf screamed with every step I took, I wasn't wearing any pants, and my open shirt was flapping around in the goddamn wind.

How's that for a bad day?

XxXxXxX

I heard heavy footsteps behind me, and I growled in annoyance. I turned around, letting the emotion show clearly on my face. "Look, I'm—." I stopped dead when I saw the look on Dean's face. What the…fuck? He looked angry, but there was something more. He was clearly miserable about something. I only hoped he wasn't planning to make a stress reliever out of me.

I noticed movement behind him, and barely glanced to see John, whom I had failed to realize until now. He was standing there, seemingly impatient, like they had something to do _besides_ this.

Again, despite the situation, I couldn't help but wonder what they were doing at The Ramrod at 5 in the fucking morning.

"Listen, Sam, one of your wounds is bleeding real bad. We need to get you treated."

"I can treat it myself."

Dean shifted on his feet, bringing his hands to his hips in annoyance. "Okay, that sounds like a fucking dandy idea. How?"

In all honesty, I didn't know the first clue to treating my calf wound. Injuries were frequent, but they were never to this degree, always healable with some of Greg's Band-Aids and the passing of time. Couldn't I just sprinkle it with water or something?

My lack of response told him enough, and he looked away, putting a hand on his jaw, like he just didn't know how to deal with the idiotic kid in front of him.

"Can your parents help you?"

I shook my head.

"Do you even have parents?"

I shook my head.

"Do you have anyone that can help you?"

I had Greg, but I wasn't going to mention that. Disturbing him and his family at 5 in the morning would be like a spit in the face for all the altruistic things they'd done for me in the past. I didn't want to keep relying on them so heavily.

I shook my head.

Dean sighed, though not with as much vigor, and I could tell he felt sorry for me, and damn it that's what I'd been trying to avoid. Now that it was out in the open, he and John probably realized how stupid I was for not being able to take care of myself.

"All right, kid, you can come with us."

"What?"

Dean tossed a thumb at John. "Me and my dad have a motel room near here. We'll get your leg treated there."

My eyes went wide, and my arms wrapped around my waist, hands tightly gripping the hem of my boxers.

In my lifetime, I've been to three people's houses: my family's, Greg's, and Coleman's. The first house, difficult but manageable; the second, enjoyable and pleasant. Coleman's…

That was where I'd been "punished".

Ever since then, I'd grown a phobia for two things: entering homes I'm unfamiliar with, and having my body bound in any sort of way. Thankfully, the last time a guy tried to get kinky and tie my hands together was when I was out on the streets, not at The Ramrod. I shoved him off me, and effectively broke his nose. I also bit off part of his finger.

Now I was faced with a similar dilemma all over again. My phobias were known only to Coleman and Greg, so the Vesters couldn't be taking advantage of it or anything.

That didn't make it any less terrifying.

My hands were shaking, and I felt my legs almost give out. My insight was usually flawless with this kind of thing, but…maybe I was wrong. Maybe they were the kind of people that went to gay strip clubs and paid for prostitutes to release sexual tension. Maybe they were the kind of people that took them to their homes for violent sex. Maybe they tied boys to their bedposts and raped them again and again until their insides were bleeding and they lost consciousness.

I took several hasty steps back, and Dean did the same, but with significantly more grace.

"Stay back," I shrieked, and Dean obeyed, his hands held high.

I heard John heave a sigh. "Dean…"

Dean sighed as well, not impatiently like John, but…sad? He took a step back, then another. "Listen Sam, if you don't want us to help you, that's fine. But," he slowly reached a hand down and fished something out of his pocket, revealing a business card. "If you ever need help," he bent down slowly, "Just call this number." Placing the card on the ground, he kept his gaze on me, as if making sure I understood he wouldn't do anything.

I was frozen, my lips couldn't move, and Dean took a small, hesitant step back, as if hoping for a response. When none came, he fully turned, and he and John left together, rounding a corner and disappearing from sight.

Only then did I allow my legs to give out, my knees dropping harshly onto the cold ground. I brought trembling hands to my face, covering my mouth as I tried to contain the sobs.

I forgot about the card the moment Dean and John were out of sight.

Later, though, I'd wish like hell I had remembered it.

XxXxXxXxX

The Ramrod was one of the few strip clubs to open in the morning, probably because there were so many horny people in this town. I guess they needed an official place to legally release all their raging hormones.

That was where Greg found me that morning: knelt in front of The Ramrod with dried tears and torn clothes. He called my name, numerous times I think, before crashing to his knees in front of me. He took my face into his big hands, cradling me like he was handling a baby bird.

"Oh, God, Sammy," he said in what sounded like physical pain as he petted my cheek with his thumb, wiping away a tear.

"I'm okay…I'm okay." Maybe not, but I was better than I had been. Much better. Really, now I felt more numb than anything else, like I was somehow disjointed from the world and didn't belong.

Why did I have to react like this? Just because Dean and John had wanted to take me to their home…just because they may have wanted…

Greg saw the look in my eyes, and, hesitantly, so hesitantly, leaned forward. His face neared mine, and only when it was close enough to feel his breath did I shake my head.  
He nodded and pulled back. He stood and lifted me gently off the ground, cradling me to his chest. He gasped, cursing softly as he noticed the dried blood all over the back of my leg. He burst through The Ramrod and rushed me to the dressing room, lightly setting me down on one of the benches.

"Now where's that first-aid kit…" he muttered as he looked through the contents of his locker, letting out an, "Ah-ha!" when he found it.

He cleaned up my calf and drowned it in some sort of ointment before wrapping it in a white bandage.

"Thanks, Greg," I said as he finished dressing it. I was gradually regaining my humanity, and once again felt grateful Greg cared so much for a lowlife like me.

He set the first-aid kit aside, looking straight into my eyes. "Now…what happened?"

I hated it when Greg asked me these questions. He didn't live on the streets, so he never knew how tough it was, not really. He only heard about it, from me, and I hated killing his innocence every time he asked where I got my bruise or bite mark from.

I shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. "I ran into a few guys. Nothing I couldn't handle."

Greg's eyes were blazing. "They raped you, didn't they?"

I immediately looked away. I guess I should've known better than to think I could deceive him. We've been working at The Ramrod together for four years and, despite our age difference, we've grown close during that time. Of course, it took me a while to warm up to him, but he really was a great guy and even a kid like me could see that.

"Yeah, it's not a big deal. I don't remember all of it anyway." He gave me a questioning look, and I continued. "I passed out sometime after the second guy got his turn."

I was probably the biggest dumbshit in the history of dumbshits. How would saying something like that reassure him? I gave him one of my sweet smiles, hoping to counteract the previous statement. I wanted to assure him that I was okay, that there was no harm in it. Not much, anyway.

His mouth quivered, and he laid his head softly against my chest. "Fuck," he whispered, voice cracking. It wasn't often he cursed, and it made me feel guilty knowing I was the cause of it.

"I wish you had come to me," Greg said softly, his voice flooded with pain. Really, if I had been in my right mind, I may have. I was the useless pebble, and Greg was my rock. I relied on him for everything I couldn't do myself.

"You mean more to me than you could ever know," I said. I blinked. I wasn't sure where that came from. When I had become a sensitive, emotional guy that always shared his feelings, I didn't know, but I couldn't have been any more right. Without Greg, I wouldn't be here right now.

Greg seemed just as surprised as I felt, and his head sprang up to meet my gaze. His eyes were bright, and his smile so beautiful my heart ached, and any regrets I had from saying that were washed away. Seeing Greg safe, seeing Greg happy…that meant everything to me.

I leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, giving him a meaningful look. He nodded, and I ended our little moment by standing, whether he wanted it to be or not, and walked over to the locker he had indicated earlier. "So where are the cat costumes?"

Despite his joy, I could see he was still haunted by what happened to me earlier. I watched him visibly push down the memories and emotions that went with it, and he tried to give me a playfully sour look. "Are you sure you want to worry about that so early in the morning?" He went to stand beside me anyway, pulling out some miscellaneous items before uncovering the outfit. He gave me a guilty look, probably because he wasn't the one that'd be wearing it.

I could only stare in horror. It was much worse than I had anticipated.

XxXxXxXxX

Greg is a fun character, but I promise Dean and John will be more predominant in Sam's life soon.


	3. Chapter 3

I wanted to provide another chapter since I broke my promise about posting punctually. Be aware it's slightly more graphic in this chapter. But...hopefully that's a good thing for some?

Enjoy! :)

XxXxXxXxX

Since I wasn't on-duty until noon, I lounged around in the main room, watching Greg and the other two strippers dance on the stage. It wasn't too vulgar this early in the day, and they only wore tight black shorts, matching cat ears, large paws, and a necklace that hung down between their impressive pecks. Greg was definitely an attractive guy, and I didn't doubt most of the crowd was watching only him.

A thick hand appeared in the corner of my eye, landing on my shoulder before quickly traveling down to my chest. It reached beneath the torn shirt to grab harshly at one of my nipples. I winced when the fingers pinched and twisted, and I smacked the invasive hand away, turning to see the culprit, Hudson.

"I'm surprised to see you here, Sammy-boy. Does this mean I'll get to see you in a sexy cat costume?" He sounded eager, and eyed my body suspiciously, particularly below my waist.

Because my own jeans had been ripped and cut, I was borrowing Greg's stripper ones; they were supposed to be tight but, because of my smaller size, were fairly loose.

Loose enough, in fact, for Hudson to easily stuff his hand in them, slipping beneath my underwear to firmly grasp my crotch.

I nearly fell out of my chair, immediately grabbing his wrist to yank it out. He was stronger than he looked, though, and thick veins protruded from under his skin as he refused to budge.

"Fuck off," I hissed as he squeezed harder, and I elbowed him hard in the ribs. He grunted, finally pulling away and removing his hand from my pants.

I resituated my jeans, huffing loudly. "Stupid bastard. Try that again and I'll knock the shit out of you." Of course, I was just talking big. No way in hell could I take down a guy like Hudson.

He smirked triumphantly, as if sensing my own lack of conviction, and used the same gross hand to pat my cheek. I swatted it away bitingly. He only snickered mockingly, waving as he turned. "I'll be waiting for you."

He walked back to his usual booth near the back, behind the regular tables, and I muttered, "Yeah, I bet you will."

I turned back to the stage and noticed Greg's discreet glance in my direction. He was always so overprotective, of his family and of me, and it made me feel special, _loved,_ to know I was worthy of his attention, even if we didn't share the same blood.

I continued to watch Greg dance agilely across the stage, his limbs effortlessly maneuvering in elegant yet sensuous twists and turns. He really was a talented performer. If he'd had a different upbringing, he could've been famous.

After watching four more dances, my stomach began to grumble, and I twisted around in my chair to get a glimpse at the clock. Just passed noon. Giving Greg one more supportive glance, I stood, walking over to the bar near the entrance, directly behind the rear booths. Working here got me free access to the bar, moderately, at least, and I ordered a coke and fries. Food-wise, we were pretty lacking, but we did serve a few delicious, grease-coated items like fries and burgers, and reserved steaks for the rich people like Hudson.

I enjoyed my lunch in silence, nibbling on a ketchup-lathered fry. Not moments later, Greg showed up for his own lunch break, sitting at a stool beside me as he snatched a fry off my plate.

"Having fun up there?" I asked, referring to the stage.

He wore a pair of jeans over his black shorts, and thanked Barney the bartender as the man placed a soda on the tabletop in front of him. He took a gulp before setting it back down. "Yeah, it's great. Really wish you'd join me, though," he said, winking.

In reality, I knew he was joking. Greg would've hated me being a stripper, and he was thrilled every time I turned the job down. I knew this because he had once told me it made his job ten times easier that I wasn't dancing erotically in front of horny men, and that I was less likely to be assaulted if I was simply a waiter.

I rolled my eyes and went along with it anyway, popping a fry into my mouth. "I don't dance with old men."

Greg gave me a look of mock offense, holding a hand to his heart like it truly pained him. "Don't disrespect your elders, young man! I'll have you know that we are very skillful with a cane."

I laughed, something rare for me, and I could tell Greg was happy with it. In reality, we weren't that far apart in age—me seventeen, him twenty-two—but making fun of him was entertaining, and sometimes I just couldn't help it.

I glanced at the clock. I took one last sip of my coke and didn't finish my fries, pushing my plate in front of Greg.

"Sam, you need to eat," he immediately reprimanded, and I ignored him, hopping off the stool.

"It's almost one, and I need to get dressed."

He nodded, allowing it to slip. This time. "Good luck," he said, earnestly enough that I knew I was going to need it.

Before departing, he grabbed my wrist, the other hand lightly clutching my hair. He gave me a deep kiss on the lips, and I allowed him. Then I pulled away and he released me, and I made my way over to the dressing room. I had to pass Hudson's booth to get there, and I could feel his intense gaze.

I ignored it like I ignored Greg's complaints about my eating habits, and made it inside the room without interruption.

Sighing to myself, I completely stripped out of my clothes, putting Greg's jeans in his locker and the rest into mine. I paid particular attention to the money wadded up in my shoes, covering it up with my underwear and torn shirt. After, I opened up the far locker to gather the necessary items for my outfit today. Grabbing the furry black ears attached to a black headband, I admired them inquisitively. Should I pull my bangs back to hold them in place as well?

After consideration, I decided against it, and just placed the headband on my head. Next I pulled on the elbow-length black gloves, not thick and bulky like the strippers', but thin, like a second layer of flesh. Not bad so far. Grabbing the lacy girl panties was next, and I shamefully pulled them over my thighs and onto my hips. In the back of them, there was a very deliberately cut hole…

That was wear the tail went.

I grabbed said tail, as black as the ears and curved in a cute little loop at the bottom. I gulped. How the hell was I supposed to get this in?

The door to the dressing room opened, and I watched Coleman enter, his eyes immediately inspecting my body.

"Ah, I thought I saw you come in here," he said with a happy chuckle. So he purposely caught me in the middle of dressing?  
Really fucking typical.

He saw my dilemma, and nearly flew to my side, taking the black tail from my hand. "Here," he said hungrily, "let me."

My eyes nearly fell out of their sockets, and I instantly attempted to get my tail back. "No, no, no, that's completely unnecessary. I can do it myself, really," I said desperately, uselessly.

Coleman shook his head, then suddenly turned me around and pushed me to my knees. He forcefully bent me over one of the low benches, and I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing for the intrusion.

As anticipated, it wasn't a furry tail, but a thick cock that was rammed into my entrance. I gasped, beginning to pant as his thrusts quickly grew faster and harder. I hated how he treated me, and I hated how it was only me he used like this. It wasn't fair, damn it, it wasn't fucking _fair._

But that wasn't me; I didn't complain. I'd take it, just like all the other times he used me.

Finally, he finished with a loud moan, and the hot semen burst inside of me, filling me with a disgusting sticky liquid that almost felt like it was burning. He pulled out, and I could feel the cum drip out of my hole and onto my panties.

I was breathless and sweaty, and couldn't pull my legs under me without falling over. Coleman laughed at me, and I wanted to punch him.

"Here, let me help you with that." He plunged the tail into my entrance, and the force alone propelled me back into the hard bench. I nearly screamed, and would have if I hadn't shoved my wrist in my mouth. I could feel the cum still inside me, trapped because of the intruding tail. Fuck. Disgusting. 

"There," he said, as though it was a job well done. "Oh," he added, almost like an afterthought. "I couldn't help but notice all the hickeys and scratches on your body; they really do mar your otherwise flawless skin." A hand reached out, his fingers barely caressing one of the hickeys. "It pisses me off." Absently, I shivered. By his tone, I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or serious as hell.

Suddenly, I let out a yelp, and my hands instinctively flew to my ass. The tail inside me was twitching, jolting inside of me. My head swirled to see a guilty, smirking Coleman, who held the switch to control the vibrator's intensity. I watched him turn the dial, and the vibrator was suddenly pounding ruthlessly against the walls and outer rim of my hole. I cried out, and Coleman immediately muffled it with his hand. "Now now, beautiful. We don't want anyone else listening to our fun, now do we?" He removed his hand, and rotated the dial in the opposite direction. "I'll keep it on a low setting, just to make sure you can continue to serve customers without creaming your panties on a regular basis." He brought his hand back to my mouth, slipping one of his fingers passed my lips. I cringed, but allowed the digit to glide its way across my teeth and tongue. "No one else is allowed to see this side of you, and your marvelous body would be hideously tainted if you got raped by another perverse idiot." Again, he sounded like the thought disgusted him, as if he wanted me to belong only to him. He removed the hand and slapped my ass, making the vibrator lurch, and I flinched with it.

Unexpectedly, he scooped down, and I cringed when his body pressed flush against my bare back. His hand had a tight grip on my ass, squeezing so violently I could distinctly feel the nails digging into my flesh. "I know what your plan is, Sam," Coleman whispered harshly into my ear, voice menacing and deadly. My heart skipped a bit, and I was about to stutter out a response when he continued. "I heard your friend talking on how you intend to leave me someday. You can try to run…" He paused, and it sounded like he was physically working to control his anger. "But I will always, always find you."

He began softly petting my hair, a stark contrast to the malevolence of his words and the harsh grip on my ass. I didn't buy into the gentle caress, though, and couldn't help but anticipate the worst.

But he did nothing more, and eventually removed both hands. "Remember, Sam," he began again, his voice grave. I didn't understand the ominous meaning, or why Coleman's mood was so drastically than usual, but his words nonetheless brought chills down my spine and sweat dripping from my forehead. He growled, "You belong to no one but me."

With that, he stood upright, brushing any dust particles off his extravagant suit. As he exited, I paid him no mind, my head lying lifelessly on the bench as I stared at the wall in front of me. After a moment, the sound of his expensive leather shoes hitting the floor stopped, and I moved my gaze to see him. He had halted mid-step, and turned to give me a happy smile. "Oh, and don't forget to fully complete your costume for today, beautiful. I'm very impatient to see the finished product."

My mind felt numb, and all I could do was watch blankly as Coleman turned and left, closing the door behind him. I felt so lonely. My heart felt broken and I knew the only person I trusted enough to fix it was Greg. It had taken years, but he was the only person who'd gotten close enough to know the real me. He was my only friend, my only anything. Greg could make me feel better, and maybe Dean and John could help out, too.

My eyes had fallen shut at some point, but now they were wide open, astonished by my own thoughts. Why did I want to see those two again? I'd made a complete fool of myself in front of them and now I was willing to let them witness me at my weakest?

No. I couldn't think about this right now. That bastard Coleman was right. Rising to unsteady legs, I made my way back to the far locker, my ass pounding in sync with the ache in my head. Grabbing the bag of black whiskers, I took out six. Removing the peeling that came on one side, I glued them each to my cheeks, three on each side. Next I took the black marker and dabbed at the tip of my nose, making a small circle.

I then placed my feet into black, outrageously tall heels, making me feel almost as tall as Greg. Lastly, I snapped on my ever-present collar, the chain hanging down to rest near my waist.

I stumbled out of the dressing room, hoping to see Greg still at the bar for his lunch break. My ass was resonating with unwanted vibrations, and I could feel my body's defenses crumbling.

My stomach dropped when I saw Greg on stage with two other strippers. His eyes were closed, and he was clearly in his rhythm, moving his lithe body in time with the fast-paced song playing over the speakers.

I swallowed. I didn't want to ruin his good mood with something as stupid as this. Telling him wouldn't change anything. It'd only make him angry and negatively affect his performance.

I didn't need to tell Greg. I could tough it out and do my job. No problem.

I glanced around at the spacious area in front of the stage, looking at all the tables I was supposed to serve. In addition to designated tables, there were also customers that personally requested me as their waiter.

Ignoring the stick up my ass as best I could, I went to my nearest customer. I couldn't remember his name—just one of the many—but, thankfully, I didn't need to. I grabbed a pen and notepad off the table. Because Fridays didn't leave waiters enough room in their outfits to hold pens and notepads, they were available at each table and booth.

Touching the pen to the pad, I was about to ask the usual question when he suddenly jumped right out of his chair, wrapping arms around my waist and hurling me to the ground.

"Holy fuck, you're gorgeous," I barely heard the man growl as I focused on breathing.

My confrontation with the ground pushed the vibrator deeper into my ass, and it was all I could do to just hold onto my sanity. I let out an unintentional mewl, and the man above me seemed to find that as a huge turn-on, ravaging my nipples with his pretty white teeth. Soon he was moving on to my dick, biting it through the panties like it was a damn meal. I could only groan, squeezing my eyes tightly. I felt him pull my panties down, and wanted to complain about our policy against the "removal of garb." The hot mouth around my cock silenced me, though, and I could only moan headily.

I saw a bright light flash behind my closed eyelids, but thought nothing of it as the man's long tongue suddenly swiped along the underside of my cock. I moaned, and rocked my hips up into his open mouth. Soon, both the man's ministrations and the fast work of the vibrator had me coming into the man's mouth. I gasped loudly, panting, and finally opened my eyes to see the man licking up every drop.

Disgusting. Regaining my senses, I hurriedly pushed him off my lap, rearranging my panties back in their proper place. Suddenly, I looked up to see several customers gathered around us, their cameras and cell phones pointed in our direction.

"Hey, spread your legs wider!"  
Another shouted. "Yeah, give us a show!"

I could feel my cheeks redden, and I watched as Greg briskly forced his way through the crowd.

"Back up, fuckers, there's nothing to see. _Move._ " He spoke with weighted authority, and his voice dripped with venom. His large stature made him fierce and intimidating, and many of the spectators had taken several steps back.

He hastily pushed his way through the crowd, rushing to my side. Grabbing my hands, he brought me to my feet, and kept his body as a protective shield between me and the cameras.

"I really wish you hadn't come today," he whispered as he inspected me for injuries. "That makes two of us," I muttered, still hiding behind Greg. I had always fervently avoided Fridays but, this time, I hadn't been able to escape. What if Coleman started making me come every fucking Friday?

Greg brought his hands to my waist and properly resituated my panties. I had been fumbling clumsily to put them back on, and evidently did pretty poorly.

When it was properly aligned, Greg looked down back into my eyes and cupped my cheek in his big hand. "I'm sorry, so so sorry. I should've come sooner."

I shook my head into his hand, holding it there with my own smaller ones. I was so glad to have Greg. "Not your fault."

A contented humming noise came from the ground, and Greg turned and eyed the customer I had just been serving. He was on the ground with a wet spot on the front of his pants. He'd yet to come down from his high, and his expression was still happy and dazed. Greg kicked him in the balls, seeming to relish in his loud grunt.

I ignored the pained mewls of the customer, focusing on Greg. I wanted to stay like that longer, but after a moment reluctantly pushed his hand from my face. "Anyway, I have to get back to work."

Greg seemed sad, like he was hoping I wouldn't say that. I didn't want me to work either, but Coleman would kill me if I explicitly disobeyed his orders that I work Friday.

"Tell me if there's ever anything, anything, you need help with. Just scream and I'll hear you." I nodded, and he gave me a threatening look. "Promise?"

"Yeah," I said, smiling lightly. Greg took his promises very seriously.

After a moment, Greg sighed, nodding. "Alright, I'd better get back, too. Be careful, Sam."

"You too," I said. Greg, my shield, went back to the stage, and I noticed that the crowd had dispersed back to their original seats.

Detecting the customer that had played with me was on the ground and eyeing me again, I quickly made my escape, not bothering to ask permission as I hurried to a faraway booth.

Every step was a jab straight into my ass, but I completely disregarded it as I made my way from the impassioned crowd, who were now gradually taking their seats.

Gods, that was humiliating.

Before I knew it I had reached the booth of one of the most nauseating men here, Larry, and would have cursed myself if the vibrator in my ass didn't muddle my thoughts to mush.

But the curses came soon enough when I noticed his smirk, always hungry in nature but definitely more unsettling than usual. He was one of my worst customers, along with Leo, Hudson, and a few others. He was morbidly obese, with rolls of fat hanging off every inch of his skin, and his beckoning finger made me visibly cringe. His stare was ravenous, like he wanted to bite into me the same way he did his ten Big Macs. Was this how most men reacted when they saw boys in sleazy cat outfits?

I sure as hell hoped not.

XxXxXxXxX

Hours later with only eight more customers served and I thought I deserved one hell of a long break after this. The last two customers I served had made me cum in the most embarrassing of ways.

Why can't these bastards just order their beverages and be done?

Because I'd done two tables in a row, and it only seemed fair to do a booth next. Turning, I nearly gasped out loud when I saw Dean and John in their usual booth, expressions fierce.

Without thought, I sprinted to hide behind a large penis statue, ignoring the churning vibrator. How long had they been sitting there? I was so preoccupied with the tables I didn't even notice them. Did they see me? Is that why they looked so scary? _Oh fuck, what do I do?_

Being in this situation, I realize now that I don't want the Vesters to see me at my worst. I don't want them to see me as hideous or disgusting, but as a normal human being.

Not a fucking cat.

In my surprise, I nearly knocked over the penis statue and sent it tumbling over. I had wiped under my eye and found it…wet. Tears? _Tears?_

Oh hell no.

Realizing how absurd I was being, I immediately left the sanctuary of the penis. Could my shame of what Dean and John might think of me really bring me to tears so easily?

No matter. I wouldn't think about that now; it wasn't in the here-and-now, so it was of little consequence. If I didn't perform my duty, I didn't get paid; if I didn't get paid, I'd be whoring myself out until I'm forty.

And that sure as hell wasn't happening.

But, despite all my internal arguments that it wasn't important, I couldn't help but avoid them. It's like my entire schedule changed now that they had arrived.

Because they were sitting in a booth, all the tables were in easy view, and I couldn't risk serving one of them. That meant not doing my job, so basically I was either shit out of luck and served customers anyway, or I was shit out of luck and hid from them out of shame and embarrassment.

After a moment, I made my decision, and slinked behind the booths to where the bar was.

I chose the latter.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Dean's POV

I took an uncharacteristically huge gulp of beer, chugging it down my throat without even caring enough to savor the taste. At this point in my day, the bitter sweetness of my beverage was absolutely moot to me. I just wanted to get drunk off my fucking ass. Wasn't alcohol supposed to solve all your problems?

Without thought, I took another guzzle.

Why the hell wasn't it working?

"Dean, stop." John's words resounded in my ears, and I could hear the grave warning in his tone. "You've got to calm down. If you're not careful, you're going to choke."

Only after I swallowed the last drop did I finally place the bottle forcefully back onto the table. It made a loud thud, and I felt oddly pleased with its response.

John sighed loudly, eying my face as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Stop acting like a child."

"I'm not," I immediately hissed out in retaliation, my aura unusually sinister. "You've got to agree with me here. What that kid has gone through just isn't fucking fair." And who the hell knows what else he's gone through. We'd only peered into the smallest portion of his life, and we didn't know what other shit he's dealt with.

I put my head in my hands flustered. Sam, that poor kid, how did he end up in a seedy place like this? What happened in his life that consequently forced him into all this shit?

Thinking about it only angered me more, and I threw up a hand, using my fingers to count off all the horrors we have witnessed so far. "'Cause let's think about this here. He obviously got fucking gang raped yesterday when we found him outside; he's forced to entertain customers by flaunting his ass in front of them, he—."

"Dean." John said, halting my train of thought. "Don't you think every waiter here does the same thing?"

"Yeah, but it's not the _same._ I mean, this Sam kid is obviously way more attractive than all the other waiters, so everyone wants a piece of him like, like he's some fucking toy or something. Nobody treats him like the human he is." My fist had pounded loud on the table, the bang in sync to put perfect emphasis on my words.

John seemed conflicted, whether it was with my firm standing on the issue or my delving to far into the issue I wasn't sure.

After a moment of hesitation, John just gave me nothing but a serious look, condemning. "Dean, you're looking way too much into this. You realize that, don't you?" He leaned forward in his seat, eyes grave. "When we're on a job, we're not _supposed_ to let our emotions get involved. We get in, we do our job, we get out. _That's it."_

With no comeback, I suddenly felt horribly defeated. I knew that damn it, I really did. But this kid, this _kid_ …I felt like he deserved so much more.

It must've showed on my face, because John let out a small sigh, guilt barely shown on his features. "Why is Sam so special to you, Dean?"

My anger and frustration cooled, and now contemplative and uncertain. Why _did_ I care so much? I barely knew the kid at all, only recognized him for his kind demeanor, beautiful eyes, and all the underlying, sinister darkness I found in their depths. It wasn't much to go by, so why…why did I care?

It was embarrassing, really. It was me that made Dad wait for Sam to come out of his boss's office late yesterday night. That guy gave off nasty vibes, and watching Sam limp out of his room only confirmed my suspicions…

I grit my teeth, trying not to think about it. I was extremely irritable lately, and even I was getting annoyed with myself.

I groaned loudly, wishing I had another beer to drown myself in. This just made no sense at all.

After a long sigh, I stood, and John gave me a questioning glare. "I'm just getting a beer. Chill."

I walked around the row of booths to reach the bar only to find Sam conversing lightly with the bartender. A jacket was draped protectively over his too thin body, and he obviously had to avoid hurting himself with the tail stuck up his ass as he sat delicately on the stool.

Even from his distance, the kid looked sad, _hurt._ His back was hunched, his body curled tightly in the jacket, and seeing such a desolate expression felt like a javelin through my chest. Witnessing this moment only solidified my conviction that I indeed cared for Sam, more than I've ever cared for anyone else besides John.

I smacked myself in the face, internally growing. Goddamn it, why did he _matter_ to me so much? He has nothing to with me and yet…

I didn't want to confront that sad-looking Sam at the bar, so I very quickly lost interest in getting drunk. As I turned around, a tall, oddly attractive man rushed passed me, heading for the bar.

I made my way back to the booth, plopping into my seat and letting out a defeated sigh.

John cocked an eyebrow. "Sam there?"

I nodded.

"You know, Dean, I've been thinking." John seemed to do even more thinking as he sat in silence for a moment. He eyed me silently, then spoke, "I have a feeling Sam is actually a part of the hunt we're on."

My eyes reduced to small slits, my curiosity piqued, and I was all ears as I stared at John incredulously, skeptically. "What? What do you mean?" Was he trying to imply _Sam_ did those murders? I scoffed. Yeah right.

John shook his head. "Earlier today I found an interesting newspaper article. When we get home I think you'll want to have a look at it."

I nodded, still a bit cynical. To think Sam could be involved in a murder case…

I shrugged, lazily twirling around my empty beer bottle. I'd learn more about Sam soon enough.

XxXxXxXxX

Okay, so not necessarily the most climactic ending I could've thought up. The next chapter will be back to Sam's POV. I haven't decided if I want a few Dean or John POVs interwoven throughout the chapters as the story progresses, but we shall see.

I hope everyone enjoyed! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**As a precursor, no wincest or Sam/Dean slash exists within this fanfic.**

**Enjoy!**

**XxXxXxXxX**

I escaped the main room to instead slink behind the booths to the bar, going to my usual stool. I couldn't sit without plunging the tail deeper into my ass, so I knelt on the seat instead, leaning my elbows against the tabletop.

Barney the bartender gave me a questioning eyebrow, but said nothing. Like all the employees at The Ramrod, he was very attractive, with short, dirty blond hair, dark brown eyes, small stubble on his chin, and the ubiquitous toothpick sticking out from between his teeth. While he and I were not necessarily friends, he was a decent guy and I didn't mind sharing companies with him.

"You alright, Sam?" He was cleaning a used wineglass and glancing at me, who probably had an odd/terrified look on his face. I schooled my features a bit and nodded. He shrugged, putting the wineglass down to grab another. "If you're sure." Without looking my way, he set the glass and cloth down, stripping out of his jacket and placing it on the tabletop in front of me. "Here".

I stared at it for a moment, incredulous. "Thank you," I said kind of hesitantly as I put it on over my bare skin. Barney really was a good guy. He probably wouldn't have minded me dumping some of my worries onto him, but I still didn't feel comfortable doing that with anyone but Greg.

Who— _holy fuck yes_ —happened to jump into the seat beside me not a moment later. He looked habitually concerned. "Hey Sam, are you okay?" He paused, continuing to search my gaze. "You look…weird." His voice trailed off before becoming reanimated, and his eyebrows slanted downward in anger. "Did someone hurt you?"

A surge of energy brought him to his feet, rage engulfing every feature on his beautiful face. I immediately put a strong hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. "Nothing happened. I'm okay, seriously..."

"Damn it, that's what you _always_ say." His hand was clutching his scalp tightly, and I could tell he was conflicted. He visibly forced himself to calm down, and slipped a hand through my hair, leaning his forehead onto mine. His dark blue eyes stared into mine while I stared into his. "I'm so fucking sorry," he whispered. His eyes looked slightly watery, and I gave him a reassuring smile. He sighed into my mouth, "I'm sorry, I just, I just..." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I hate seeing you like this."

I couldn't help but smile at that, so damn happy he cared about me. I gave him a kiss, holding my lips to his until he responded. Hesitantly, he pushed his to mine, and I internally nodded to myself, satisfied. I gave him another peck on the lips and cheeks before withdrawing. "I'm fine," I emphasized, and I knew he would agree now. I didn't kiss him if it felt disgusting to be touched.

Greg was more reassured now, and he smiled, small but there.

"Oh," I said, pointing to my rear. "And these damn cat costumes are a huge pain in my ass. Literally."

Greg kind of giggled at that. A manly giggle, though. "Yeah, I hear a lot of the waiters complaining about how uncomfortable it is. Sorry you have to deal with that."

I waved my hand like it was nothing, wishing that was even half-true. Uncomfortable? These bastards had a vibrator shoved straight up their ass, and it's only _uncomfortable?_

He looked at the clock, squeezing my hand before hopping off the stool. "Alright, I gotta head back now. Don't push yourself, Sam."

I nodded, and he jogged through the booths and tables back to the stage. I heard several customers whistle as he passed them, and I only shook my head in amusement.

Barney was still cleaning up all the dirty wineglasses. "It's weird how y'all kiss when you're just friends."

I looked to him, and shrugged with a smile. "Maybe." It might be weird, but it was something we had been doing for a long time now, and I was pretty sure it wasn't going to change. If I'd been badly hurt or used, Greg would be waiting for the peck of lips to know I was okay. If I was too unresponsive or scared to kiss him, then he knew something was wrong.

"Is Greg's boyfriend okay with that?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I think so. He used to hate it, but he doesn't mind it as much now." Initially, Ben had hated me with all of his being and then some. He didn't understand why I held a special place in Greg's heart, or what was so important about me. I still didn't either but, either way, I think Greg explained it to him when I wasn't around. I didn't mind, though. Greg knew me well, and would never say something about me that I'd be against someone else knowing. Greg said only the bare minimum, and apparently it'd been enough for Ben.

Kind of. We were still in iffy territory.

"That's good," Barney said absently. He didn't seem to mind either way and continued with his business, which ultimately forced me to go back to my own. I couldn't sit here in hiding forever. Coleman wouldn't fire me, but he'd be all too willing to "punish" me.

That thought alone had me standing to my feet, and I took off Barney's jacket, thanking him for the loan. I felt I should repay him in some way, but wasn't quite sure how.

He only nodded in response, not taking his eyes from the wineglass in his hand.

If he weren't so aloof and seemingly unapproachable, guys and girls alike would be crawling all over him.

I left the bar, sluggishly making my way over to Dean and John's booth. The vibrator was pounding against my outer walls, and I winced slightly. Being with Greg made him the main focus of my attention. He was my best and only friend, and I relied on him for anything I couldn't do myself. But, now that he was gone, I was alone and there was nothing to distract me from the seemingly endless discomfort and agony of these vibrations.

I pushed the ache down as much as I could. I had to mentally and physically prepare myself for seeing the Vesters again. I was dreading the moment of confrontation, but knew it needed to happen. Now that they were here, I couldn't prolong it anymore; the rest of the customers would just have to wait. Besides, I had never answered any of their questions about the murder investigation, and I really wanted to help out if I could.

Of course, with the information I had, it'd probably only criminalize me.

Taking a deep breath, I sidestepped from behind their booth and sidled fully into their view. They'd probably heard me before they saw me, courtesy to my high heels, and I was suddenly very acutely aware of my promiscuous outfit. Would they think I was some sort of _slut?_

But wasn't I one anyway?

I internally bonked myself on the head, telling myself to focus. Dean and John's gazes were boring into me, neither of them hostile, but at the same time not exactly ecstatic either. In their surprised eyes were also hints of anger. Was it directed toward me? Were they disgusted by me and my slutty outfit?

I felt myself shiver, goosebumps appearing on my skin. I looked down at my feet, ignoring their piercing gazes, and forced myself to speak. "Uh, h-hey. Sorry about…before." I scratched self-consciously at my head, avoiding the cat ears. Looking back at the moment now, all they'd wanted to do was treat my wounds. They hadn't meant anything gross by it.

When I'd visit Greg at his home, his mother was sappy and earnest and always talked to me about the "consequences of my actions."

Well I was sure as hell facing them now.

Dean nodded in understanding, both his and his father's cheeks light pink. Whether it was because of my outfit or recalling when they found me naked, I didn't know. "It's no problem, really. I'm glad to see you got it taken care of." He gestured to my calf.

I nodded awkwardly. "Yeah, I got my friend to fix it…"

Dean seemed surprised, and I was just as much so when a smile graced his features. It was beautiful. "So you _do_ have someone you can rely on?"

"Well, yeah, but…" I looked down, and my voice grew solemn. "I didn't want to burden him."

Their faces became sad and sympathetic, and again I could sense the underlying anger slowly bubbling to the surface. The tension had somehow risen with that comment, and I suddenly cleared my throat, practically demanding a change in subject. "So, uh…do you have any leads on your investigation?"

John seemed to give Dean an annoyed pout at that, and Dean's blush deepened. John spoke this time, his words slightly biting. "We _had_ one last night, but complications occurred and the attempt was a distinct failure. Thanks for asking." Midway through his explanation he had looked pointedly at me. Was it my fault, too?

I felt awkward under his heavy gaze, and this time it was me that had blood rushing to my cheeks.

His gaze lightened, though, and I was surprised to see a smile appear on his face. It was small, and not as happy as Dean's, but my stomach still fluttered hopelessly from it. "But I'm glad to see you're alright."

Stunned, I couldn't help but smile with relief. Gods, I thought he was going to kill me.

"So, uh, I have to ask," Dean started, coughing into his hand awkwardly. "Why the cat costume?"

I shifted on my heels. This was it, the moment they would start condemning me. I tried to laugh it off, but the chuckles were drenched with tension and anxiety.

They'll never want to talk to me again.

"Uh, it's just something our manager really has a fetish for. We do it every Friday." I was about to delve into the "hail the tail" slogan, but immediately stopped myself. That was not something we needed to discuss right now.

Eyeing my outfit, Dean only nodded in uncertainty and puzzlement. I stiffened further, as if he could see the vibrator boring into me from his impossible angle. "That's an awfully crude thing to have a fetish for," he said vaguely. I nodded, looking down. It was so embarrassing, and I could feel nothing but shame. These two probably found me ghastly, filthy to the bone with not an inch of virtue. I was a menace, and nearly everyone in town's plaything. I didn't deserve Greg, and I didn't deserve the Vesters.

I was brought out of my self-loathing when Dean laughed. "Well, I have to say you pull off the look."

After working with gay men for four years, I could easily tell by looking at these two that they were straight. For him to say that to me, and without a hint of lust…well, it surprised me. It surprised me a lot. "Wh-What?"

"You look good in it." Dean was smiling at me, at _me._ He wasn't looking at my body, but my eyes.

My smile was wide and grateful. Not because he told me something I heard constantly anyway, but because he wasn't pushing me away like I was something disgusting and repugnant. He actually _accepted_ me. "Thanks," I said, and I really meant it.

Suddenly, I felt a small tug from behind. Someone had grabbed at the base of my tail, making the vibrator jerk violently in place. A squeak passed my lips, and I barely got a glimpse of black-gray hair before the tail was pulled out, then brutally shoved back in. The jolt pushed me into the table, and I doubled over it, bending at the waist.

"I was right. You _do_ look sexy in a cat costume."

From my peripheral, I could see Dean and John begin to stand, eyes fiery, and I hurriedly righted myself, distractedly brushing imaginary dust off my bare thighs. Calm down, Sam, calm down.

I turned around to see Hudson, who reached out with a stumpy hand to grab my dick. The thin material of my panties gave me little protection from his suffocating grip, and I winced, but ignored it as best I could.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm currently serving another customer right now. Please wait your turn to be attended."

His grasp tightened, and his face distorted in impatience. "But I want you _now._ Watching you strut around in that slutty outfit for other men is pissing me off."

"I'm very sorry, sir; I didn't mean to upset you. I will be with you in a moment."

Despite his anger, his expression seemed double-sided. It reminded me of a sly man with an elaborate scheme, a plan that would bring downfall to his enemy and kingship to himself.

Sure enough, Hudson released me and freely turned back to his own booth. He crossed his legs elegantly, like all the wealthy here, and his gaze was glued to me the entire time. When our eyes met, his smirk grew wider and more tormenting.

I turned back to the Vesters, expression solemn. "S-Sorry about that. Is there any way I can make up for it?" Usually when I spoke to customers, it was much more formal, as we were required to do. Somehow, though, Dean and John had slipped under my radar, and I was innately saying "sorry" instead of "I sincerely apologize".

Cheeks red—that would never get old—they hastily shook their heads. "No, no, it's fine," they said, nearly simultaneously, and any other day I would've found it amusing. But right now, I wanted to sink into the earth and drown in its soil. This was horrible, humiliating. I hated himself. 

"Then, may I request leave?" I asked expressionlessly.

They hesitated in their response, glancing back at Hudson's menacing demeanor. Their eyebrows were slanted and Dean was poised to speak, and for the third time in my career I departed without waiting for permission. Dean and John wouldn't sell me out for not following policy, and I would take advantage of that.

I bowed low to them before leaving, still kind of disappointed to leave them. But Hudson was right; I had intentionally skipped over all my other customers to serve these two. It wasn't fair, and I shouldn't allow myself to be so easily swayed by my emotions.

I turned, extremely self-conscious of my tail. I could feel it twitch and jerk with each step I took, and I quickly went over to Hudson's booth.

The older man was smirking hungrily, and by the time I arrived in front of him the hand I'd swatted away earlier once again found it's way to my crotch. I couldn't fight it, not without getting pinned as the 24-hour toy for being unmannerly to a customer.

I'd tough it out, because that's the kind of person I was, now and forever. Don't complain, don't fight it, just shut up and take it.

I grabbed the set of the pen and notepad off the booth's table. Prepared for an order, I questioned, "What would you like from the menu, sir?"

"You."

"Sir, I'm not on the menu. However, we do have a lovely new wine—."

Hudson waved a thick hand, irritated. "I'm not interested in your damn wine."

At a loss, I only stood in silence, refusing to react as his other hand traveled back to my tail.

However, when a finger scurried under my panties and into my entrance, I immediately fished it out. "Physical penetration is against the rules, sir."

Hudson leered. "Are you implying _you_ follow the rules?"

His expression was thoroughly amused. It was also sadistic, more so than I'd ever seen it. I could feel my stomach rumbling in apprehension.

"You willingly ignored everyone else and went to serve _those straight boys_ instead." He reached back under my panties and began to finger my hole again but, for a reason I didn't quite comprehend yet, I didn't push it away.

"So tell me, how exactly do you feel about those? The rules, I mean."

I didn't back down. "I obey the regulations set by my master."

He cackled. "Is that so?" His finger kept prodding into my ass, and in addition to the vibrator still inside me, my ass was absolutely throbbing in agony.

"You know, Sam…" he began thoughtfully, wearing that same smirk. "You were awfully discourteous to me back there, which is _absolutely_ against the rules. But you weren't just discourteous to me." He worked both of his hands fast and hard, and I could feel my body growing hotter. "You were discourteous to every client in this room."

My mind was vaguely beginning to understand what he was implying. I violently forced it down. No, I couldn't have…surely not.

My body began to shiver violently, the vibrator this time having nothing to do with my tremors. My eyes were wide, and only now did I realize what he meant. By putting Dean and John at the head of my list, I just treated every other customer "discourteously" by voluntarily ignoring them. Sweat dropped down my temple. In other words…

I broke the rules.

I watched Hudson smirk as realization shown in my eyes, and I immediately got down on my knees, forgetting about the fingers in me as I bowed low to the older man. "Pl-Please, sir, please don't tell my master!" I had always been too prideful to beg, too strong to plead. But, right then, I didn't care. If Coleman found out I had broken regulation by displaying "misconduct or discourteous acts," each customer I slighted would get 24 hours to play with me however they pleased. And then…

Then I'd be as good as dead.

I felt tears sting my eyes, and a rough hand grabbed my chin, pulling my face up to look into his dark, merciless eyes.

"Who exactly did you say your master was?"

I knew the answer he was looking for. "Y-You are."

Hudson put a hand to his ear. "What? I didn't quite catch that."

I ground my teeth together hard, forcibly stopping any tears that threatened to fall. I said louder, my voice cracking, "You are."

He removed his hand from my chin and rested both his arms on top of the cushions near his head. His eyes gleamed with malice. "Prove it."

Swallowing audibly, I crawled beneath the table, situating myself between his legs. I worked on the zipper, undoing his pants until his slick cock was in sight.

I sucked and licked it, and multiple times he would forcibly shove it deeper down my throat. My gag reflex was good, but not that good, and every time I'd cough like I was dying. Maybe I was. 

Finally, after what felt like years, he came with a moan, white seed spurting all over my mouth and cheeks. I was panting and tired, and the sides of my lips felt painful and cracked.

Hudson yanked at the chain on my collar, and I followed his direction until I was sitting fully on his lap. My cattail was pushing against his thigh, and the vibrator was shoved deeper.

He patted my cheek, horribly condescending. "Good boy," he said, smirking.

He turned his hand around and saw the cum that now covered it. He placed it directly in front of my face. "Get rid of it." I licked at his palm and sucked on each of his fingers, coating them completely in saliva.

He removed his wet hand from my mouth and reached behind me, tugging the vibrator and tail out. I gasped loudly as it came out with a slick _pop,_ and my body suddenly felt weightless and empty.

He looked at the vibrator in his hand, smirking. "You boss's favorite or something?" He chuckled darkly. "Poor kid, having to deal with an actual vibrator shoved up his ass while everyone else gets a simple stick."

I didn't understand what he was saying, or what he meant. All I could focus on were the fingers sliding under my panties, quickly acting as a replacement for the vibrator. My hole twitched as his fingers stretched me, scissoring and pulling at the rim.

"God, how the hell are you still so fucking tight?" Hudson's eyes were closed and his head was leaned back on the cushion behind him. I knew I had to satisfy him. If I didn't, I could end up everyone's slave.

This way, I'd only be his.

He detached his drenched fingers from my body, and they too fell out with that same popping noise. Gods, even my hole sounded like a slut.

I knew what he liked, and I resituated myself on his lap until I was leaning over him, my knees resting on either side of his hips and my back against the edge of the table.

Hudson wrenched at the hem of my lacy panties, tugging them down until they were situated around my knees. With his hand on the small of my back, he pulled me to him, and I shivered when my cock sat inches away from his face. He smirked, looking up at me as he leaned down to lick the underside. It jumped at the contact, and I hated myself for reacting to something so disgusting.

"Ready?" he asked hungry.

I nodded, and drove my hips down onto his waiting cock. I cried out, the thick, fleshy organ piercing my entrance and driving through my insides.

After getting used to the much bigger intrusion, I slowly began to rock up and down on it, gradually increasing my speed.

"Ah, _ah."_ I could hear myself panting loudly, too loud. My eyes were closed, and I was scared this was going to turn into a real spectacle if I kept this up. The customers came here for a show, and sometimes it wasn't just the stage they were watching.

"You're so fucking hot," Hudson gasped out before groaning as I took him in fully. My hands were grasping his shoulders like a lifeline, and it was probably the only thing keeping me upright.

I found an acceptable rhythm and stuck with it. It was straining to keep up the fast pace, but satisfying Hudson was the number one priority.

His fingernails dug painfully into my ass cheeks, and I barely heard over the pounding of my ears as I groaned in both pain and pleasure. The pace was grueling, but I could feel even my own body begging for more.

Suddenly he froze underneath me, and the response killed whatever sex drive I had amassed. I stopped thrusting, absently opening my eyes to look at him. Did I do something wrong?

He was looking off to the side, staring at something or someone I couldn't see. His wide eyes looked fearful, and I turned, half-expecting to see a vengeful-looking Dean or John Vester.

I was surprised to find it was Coleman who was watching us. His eyes were cold and threatening, and never before had I seen that look before. Lustful and hungry, yes, that was frequent, but never…never like _this._

"I think you're playing with something that doesn't belong to you." Each of his words had bite, and I didn't have the strength or courage to pull out of Hudson's dick. It felt like any movement I made right then would be my last.

Hudson was shaking beneath me. "N-No, you don't understand. This kid _broke the rules."_ He was stuttering, and it was weird to see this side of him. He was normally so self-righteous and composed. To show anyone an undignified expression was something I would have considered beneath him.

Coleman took a step forward, then another. "It seems to me, kind patron," he began. "That it is _you_ who are breaking the rules."

"B-B-But…"

Coleman abruptly seized my elbow, heaving me toward him. Hudsons' dick left my entrance, and I ended up a panting mass on the floor. My panties were bunched up around my ankles, and I'd fallen with legs spread wide. Gods, I was even a slut _subconsciously._

But I didn't move to close them. Coleman's gaze was honed in on Hudson, but I didn't know if or when that would change. He was like a wild animal, ferocious, unpredictable, and deadly. I shiver crawled down my spine.

I wasn't surprised to hear camera clicks and see the bright flashes coming from behind me. Some of the braver ones even edged up beside me to take pictures of my frozen, open legs.

"Alright, back up, everyone, back up." A scuffle of feet. "Hey, asshole, I said back the fuck up." Dean's voice echoed behind me, and I heard shoving and a violent punch as fist met meaty flesh.

A body hit the floor, and I soon felt a tall presence come to stand behind me. I was still in a slow daze, and firm hands grabbed my armpits, gently guiding me to my feet. The touch was warm, welcoming, and I automatically leaned into it. Astoundingly, not only did I not mind this man's touch, but he didn't even move to push me away.

The hands left my shoulders to reach down and grab the panties around my feet, pulling them securely back around my hips.

I turned to see the hands belonged to Dean, and he pressed his body protectively to mine, flush against my back. The intrusive customers were continuing to take pictures of the scene, and Dean's body acted as a shield to cover my own, just as Greg had done earlier. But this felt...warmer? I heard John starting fights with many of them and pushing them all back, but he was only one person and there was a whole horde of horny patrons.

I didn't move from my spot. Dean's body heat was superseding and addictive. A safe haven, a sweet refuge I could wrap myself in forever.

"Get out of the way! Move, please, _move."_ Greg's voice was just as demanding as Dean had been and a moment later appeared by my side, panting from exertion.

I reached a hand out, and he immediately grabbed it, putting it in both of his as he kissed the palm lovingly. His hands were warm, too. So warm.

The two encompassing furnaces distracted me from Hudson and Coleman's confrontation, so much so that I didn't even notice them until I heard a cry come from Hudson's lips.

My face spun to the scene, and I saw Hudson on the floor while Coleman wiped the fallen man's blood from his hand.

"Let me make something very clear to you, Mr. Hudson." Coleman positioned a foot on the man's belly, creating pressure. "You cannot claim something that does not belong to you. Sam works for me, Sam has sex with me, and Sam _belongs_ to me." I could feel Dean's hand tighten on my shoulder as he said that. 

Coleman pushed down harder, and Hudson let out a sharp cry. "You'd best remember that."

Hudson only nodded spastically, and Coleman slowly placed his foot back on the floor, off Hudson's stomach. Hudson crawling frantically backwards, away from the hideous nightmare in front of him. I almost pitied Hudson, but all the sexual perversions I had to endure from him could not be forgiven so easily, and I was not very lenient in my clemency.

Coleman turned, and this time his gaze fell to me. My body immediately stiffened.

He beckoned me. "Come. Let me show you who really owns your body."

Dean gripped my forearm tightly, and Greg held a hand in front of my torso. Neither man wanted me to go to Coleman, to allow myself to fall into his clutches.

Unfortunately, it wasn't their decision.

Sometimes, when Coleman fucked me, I tried to convince myself it wasn't my own fault, that I didn't understand why he did it to _me._ But, in reality, it was all my fault. I'm the one that gave him _permission_ to fuck me.

When I first came to The Ramrod for work, Coleman and I had made an under-the-table deal. I work for him and give him sex, he doesn't tell my patrons I have no home to live in, no family to protect me, and phobias that could leave me catatonic. If customers knew that, they'd be making countless, elaborate attempts to kidnap me. They would keep me as their own forever, and no one but Greg would realize or care that I'm missing. One person couldn't make much of a difference, especially if he's only a local stripper.

The secret that I had no family or home was very important to me. No one knew how difficult it was to avoid being followed by customers, both from work and from the streets. If they realized I lived in an abandoned alleyway with a makeshift tent, they'd take me when I was sleeping, drag me into their house, and chain me to their bed.

Being chained to a sadistic man's bed…like hell I'd let that happen a second time. Once I was caught, I knew I'd never see the light of day again. First I'd struggle and scream and fight. But, after my strength was depleted, my will would go next. I would become docile, trapped in reality and trapped in my mind. I would submit utterly to my captor, because I wouldn't really be there anymore; I'd be lost in the horrid thoughts I didn't want to have.

So yes, I ignored Dean and Greg. They wanted what was best for me, but so did I, and I knew better. Most of the time, at least.

I shrugged my shoulder from Dean's hand, and maneuvered around Greg's extended arm. He seemed melancholy, but not surprised. He knew Coleman knew my secrets, and he knew I'd do anything to keep them from becoming public.

I heard Dean curse from behind, hissing, "What? What the hell, Sam? Get back—." He stopped talking, and I'm sure Greg silenced him.

I didn't turn around, but I hoped he heard me say "I'm so sorry." I was screaming it a thousand times in my head. 

Coleman had a gleeful, triumphant look on his face, and led me to his office. I ignored the stubborn protests from Dean and jealous cries from the crowd.

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Success! :D Got a smidge dark there lol.**

****

**I also acknowledge at the moment Sam is closer to Greg than he does Dean. That _absolutely_ changes, it just takes a little time. :)  
Until next time!**


	5. Chapter 5

**I’m so very sorry for the delay. I have absolutely no excuse, and I will do my best for it to not happen again.**

**I think I was feeling underwhelmed by the response, and posting felt a bit pointless. I allowed myself to focus on my Bleach fanfic more.**

**HOWEVER, I will not let that deter me again! I will keep posting until this story is complete. ^_^**

**XxXxXxXxX**

"It angers me that such a lowly being like Hudson would try to claim what doesn't belong to him."

Coleman was playing with a strand of my hair, his other arm wrapped around my lower torso. We were both exhausted, and I didn't mind lying in bed to gather some lucidity back. In bed with Coleman…well, I minded that a lot, but it was an unfortunate necessity. I had a headache, and my ass was aching horribly. If I could just shift to lay on my stomach…

He yanked at the lock of hair he was holding, and I realized I was supposed to respond. "I belong only to you, Master."

He seemed more satisfied, but only slightly. He still held the seemingly permanent frown on his features, and I could easily assume he was still displeased. "Damn straight."

He burrowed his head into the nape of my neck, and I tilted my head to give him more access. I didn't like cuddling like some happy newlywed couple, and it was nearly as uncomfortable as the sex.

I grit my teeth. _Just shut up and take it._

His arm drifted downward, and he positioned his hand on my inner thigh. I spread my legs for him, and he massaged between my legs, slow and deliberate. I could feel my back arch as my body responded, and I shut my eyes.

"See? You like it. You like it when I do this to you."

I only moaned as he kneaded it harder, my hardening cock twitching in his palm.

I didn't understand why Coleman hated other men claiming me. He never complained about what I did on the streets, and even teased me when he saw the hickeys and nail marks on my body. This was obviously the case, yet he becomes sorely enraged when Hudson did it.

His teeth moved down to my nipple, brutally biting into the sensitive flesh. I could only gasp, unconsciously forcing my head back. Was this a prelude to _another_ round of sex?

Gods, but we'd already done it so many times today. I needed a distraction.

Swallowing hesitantly, I spoke. "Y-You know what I do when I'm not working as a waiter, so…so why did you get angry at Hudson for doing the same?"

He bit down harder, and I immediately tensed. Did I go too far? Did he dislike me for questioning his actions?

"People should follow the rules. He didn't, so he was punished."

Funny. Forever a dutiful moralist as he blackmails me to have sex with him. Would've never guessed.

But, I did see how that singular thought traced back to many of Coleman's past actions too, though. If one of his employees didn't follow the strict regulations set forth by him, they were punished. Not punished like what _my_ "punishment" had been like, but the discipline was nonetheless strict, demanding, and inflexible. He was the dictator, and he and he alone was allowed to determine our fate.

This dominating sense of being was only emphasized as Coleman once again took hold of my body, thrusting inside and tearing me up.

I grunted loudly, moaning as he efficiently hit my prostrate with every lunge. I hated how my body reacted like this; I hated how _I_ reacted like this. Having sex with this man, with any man, was disgusting, and yet…

I closed my eyes. I just didn't want to think about it.

A hasty knock sounded from the door, and Coleman growled loudly in anger.

_"Go away,"_ he demanded as he continued plunging in, not once slowing down or losing his rhythm.

A hesitant voice came through the door. "S-Sir, it ap-appears someone is h-here to s-see S-S-Sam." The voice was of Coleman's secretary, Sebastian. He was a fairly clueless man with a bad speech impediment. He was seemingly more of a hindrance than help, and it mystified me as to why Coleman hadn't fired him yet, much less hired him in the first place.

Coleman growled again, still not showing any signs of slowing down. "Well, is it someone _important?"_

"U-Um, I-I'm not sure, but h-he's certainly a-angry. V-Very angry."

I gulped. Who could be angry at me? Had I denied anyone sex recently?

The rage was still emanating off Coleman in great waves, but he gradually slowed down his pace, until the deep plunges become only light prods up my ass.

But still uncomfortable of course, so I was grateful when Coleman huffed an annoyed, "Whatever," and reluctantly rolled off and out of me. I went to sit up, but a strong arm suddenly wrapped around my torso, pressing my back against his chest. "You're gonna come back and finish what we started, right?"

I wanted so badly to say no. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs that this wasn't something I wanted, that this had never been the way I wanted my life to become.

But instead I only nodded, and Coleman forced a kiss onto my lips before removing his firm grip.

He stayed lying on the bed, watching me as I stood and limped acros the room.

"Nice view," he snickered as I bent down to grab my panties. I ignored it, pulling them on then slipping into my black high heels. I didn't bother putting my cat ears back on, and deliberately ignored the hole in my backside. This was no time for worrying about my dignity; I didn't have any left.

I opened the door to see Sebastian standing at the entrance, biting his lip and pushing his round glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"H-He's wa-waiting in t-the main room." He gulped loudly, and he looked down. "P-Please hu-hurry. H-He's very a-angry."

I nodded, and arrived in the main hall to see Sebastian had been very much right. Leo stood there, furious with teeth grit.

Shit.

I had lied to him before, had told him I got off work at midnight. He must've come back to the The Ramrod then, only to find I'd already left.

I did swift glancing at the rest of the room. Nobody had been notified that I had a visitor—and a very deadly one, at that—so none of the customers bothered with eavesdropping or preparing the cameras.

I was surprised to find Greg, Dean, and John huddled together amongst themselves, sitting at a booth across from where I was currently standing. Greg's back was to me, but I could clearly see Dean's murderous gaze and John's serious one. Dean's fists were clenched tightly and his white teeth grit together in malice. I hadn't caught their gazes, and Greg was speaking in a hushed tone, completely inaudible to me because of the loud background music pounding through the vast room.

Whatever he was saying was important, though, because the Vesters were both leaning forward in their seats, their chins nearing reaching the table as they eagerly awaited Greg's words.

Dread building in my stomach, I glanced back, and watched as Leo caught sight of me, and immediately rushed toward where I was. I only waited with apprehension as he closed in on me, my feet frozen in fear. Oh gods, if only I could attract Greg's attention. While Leo was thin and wiry, he was strong, but he was still no match for Greg. Greg was all muscle, and had saved me countless times in the past.

_What, so I'm just going to rely on him all my life?_

The thought hit me hard. I was supposed to be self-reliant, independent; why should I rely on anyone other than myself to get out of trouble? I'd gotten myself into this mess, so I'd sure as hell get myself out of it.

Easier said than done, of course, because as soon as Leo had his big hand wrapped around my neck, I was vulnerable and submissive.

Leo's eyes burned with rage. "What? You think you can just _lie to me_ like that, boy? Without _punishment?_ Oh helll no. I'll make you wish you were never born!" He squeezed harder, and he had already accomplished that promise as I choked, air promptly leaving me. My nails scratched madly at the strong hold around my neck, leaving red marks along his wrist and hand.

"You little bastard, ain't you _supposed_ to treat me well? You're dishonesty is against the rules, ain't it?" His anger switched to a sinister smirk. "That means I get ya for 24 hours. Ain't that, right, pretty boy?"

Fuck, everyone _wanted a turn with me_ , I thought as I wheezed for breath, my strength slowly leaving me. The hands that had once been fighting for freedom now dangled worthlessly at my sides. My eyes began to drift shut, and only when they fully closed did I hear loud voices shouting in protest. They were vaguely familiar voices, but I was too far gone to fully recognize them. The bruising hand left my neck, and my body was in free fall, tumbling backwards. I stopped in midair, though, landing on something soft and warm— _wasn't the floor supposed to be hard?_ —and a reassuring voice floated into my ear. I listened to it, a soft melody of indistinguishable words floating into my ears. It reminded me of a sanctuary, a safe haven, and I allowed it to slowly drift me nearer to unconsciousness.

My body finally went completely slack, and I welcomed oblivion.

XxXxXxXxX

The first thing I heard when I came to was the engine of a car. My body was lying horizontal on something cushiony, and there were occasional bumps coming from beneath me, jolting me. Was this some kind of fucked up waterbed? But then why was there an engine?

My eyes jerked open, and I saw the roof of a car. Nothing interesting. Looking a bit to the side, I saw Greg, and his expression was very clearly that of concern and small, lingering wrath. I couldn't help but be curious what happened to Leo. It was obviously Greg, Dean, and John that had saved me, and each of them had great physical prowess. Their builds were strong and intimidating and, while I knew Greg to be a huge teddy bear, he was a menacing bastard when you fucked with the people he loved.

And, as unworthy as I was, Greg did love me.

He smiled widely when he met my gaze, and I wanted to smile back. He was too cute.

My body was stiff, though, and I could do nothing but look at him with kind eyes. I felt almost frozen in place, and I realized my head was cradled snuggly in his lap. Evidently, my body realized it too comfortable to move right then.

Greg's smile never wavered, and his fingers sifted through my hair. "Hey Sam, long time no see. What happened back there? You scared the crap outta us." As he spoke, his eyes darkened. His fingers idly traced my neck, lightly and with extreme care. He glanced at it before meeting my eyes again. Had Leo's throttling bruised my neck?

I smiled, and finally gathered up the strength to speak. "S-Sorry." My voice croaked from lack of use. I searched my surroundings again. "W-Why am I in a c-car?" It was an odd place to wake up in, especially for me. It had been years since I'd ridden in one of these things. Ever since that horrific accident six years ago, I'd only traveled on foot.

Or on piggyback, courtesy to Greg.

"We're riding in Dean and John's car." Greg knew I had a distrust for cars ever since that day, and took my hand in his, squeezing firmly. "We're safe, Sam. John really is a very good driver." There was no doubt in my mind that Greg had given the older man a very stern talking-to about his driving. He did it only to protect me, and I couldn't have thanked him enough for it.

I nodded, temporarily content. Yeah, cars sucked, especially if you were inside them, but I'd deal. I'd deal just like I always did.

"Hey, are you two hungry?" It was Dean's voice coming from the passenger seat. "There's a diner nearby. They have great burgers." I could hear the happy grin in his voice at that, and I laughed softly, nodding.

"Well, uh…" Greg stumbled, cheeks red. He looked down at me, and it dawned on me I was still in my nearly nonexistent cat outfit. Greg's jacket was big and did well to conceal my body, but it would still be blatantly obvious if I walked into a restaurant with nothing but that.

Dean turned to face us then caught on, flushing. "I should have some extra clothes in the trunk."

Greg nodded to him, and I reached up to touch my cheeks, feeling the whiskers still attached.

"Here, Sam, I'll get them," Greg offered, and gently peeled them all off. I still had the black dot on my nose, and Greg took care of that for me, too, licking his finger and dabbing it along the tip. I scrunched my nose, humored by the playfully enthused look on Greg's face.

"Don't move, Sam, or my saliva might get lodged up your nostril."

He finished wiping off the marker, and I sat up from his lap, instead moving to lean against his broad shoulder. Little steps…

I scratched my head absently. "Has anyone told you that you're a great substitute for a pillow?"

Greg's arm wrapped around my bare shoulders. "No, I think this would be the first."

I only hmm'ed, and John turned the wheel, parking the car in front of the diner. Dean opened the passenger door and walked around to the back of the car, appearing a few moments later with a pair of jeans and button-down shirt. "They may be a little big, but it's better than what you've got."

What I had was essentially nothing, and I accepted the clothes gratefully, giving Greg his jacket back as I slipped them on. Dean was right; they were huge.

But, by all means, acceptable.

Neither Greg nor the Vesters had an extra pair of shoes, and since I wasn't going to walk in there wearing a pair of high heels, I went barefoot. We filed into the innocent-looking diner, and John led us to a booth in the back of the room, away from surrounding occupants.

John and Dean sat on one side while Greg and I sat on the other. In front of me was Dean, and he flashed me a happy smile, as if to say, "I'm so glad you're okay."

I smiled at that, but it disappeared as Greg turned to me. "Why was Leo after you like that? I thought he really liked you."

Of course, that was hardly a compliment. Being liked by someone like Leo led to the worst of situations, all of them sexual. Leo was a pervert, a big one, and very likely the person I was most afraid of. While Coleman had caused my worst phobias, that had been one instance, and only occurred because I needed to be "punished". Leo was sadistic every day of his life, and that automatically meant trouble for the people he decided to unleash it on.

"I lied to him about when I got off work."

Greg _ahh_ 'ed in understanding, and Dean leaned forward. "Wait, what? I don't get it."

I assumed Greg had told the Vesters that I worked the streets as well as The Ramrod. "Leo's a sick bastard when it comes to sex, and I don't want to deal with him anymore."

My neck throbbed in sync, and I was now convinced my neck was indeed bruised. I rubbed it absently, and Dean sat still for a moment, silent as he finally responded with a small nod. His eyes shone clearly with grief, and I couldn't help but feel guilty. Maybe I shouldn't have told him the truth?

The waiter arrived at our table then, and I recognized him as one of my regulars on the streets. He was probably a college student, with bizarrely styled hair and a pimply face. Worse yet, he was awkward and shy, and no one but me would believe he frequently paid for a male prostitute.

But it was sure as hell entertaining to tease him.

Our gazes met and I smirked widely. He gasped as he immediately recognized me, and hastily hid beneath his dark bangs.

"U-Um, w-will the payment be s-separate or together?"

I tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention—how rude of him to ignore me—and smirked at the resulting muscle spasm. Damn, but it was fun teasing the poor guy. "Separate, pretty please."

Dean leaned forward, countering with a loud, "Together."

My eyes shaped into small slits, and I growled. _"Separate."_

Dean shook his head, and began searching for his wallet.

I swatted his hand away from his jeans pocket. "I can pay for my own food, thank you." I didn't want to be pitied. I may go through hell to earn my money, but that didn't mean Dean could patronize me and buy me diner food and shit.

Dean huffed, cocking an eyebrow. "Yeah? With _what money?"_

I was about to pull out my wallet when I remembered. Shit. I'd gotten into their car wearing only a pair of panties, and hadn't brought my money-filled sneakers.

I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest and pointedly looking away.

Dean smirked victoriously, and I could tell Greg was trying hard to contain his own laughter. I cursed them both under my breath, and from behind the thick curtain, the prostitute-paying waiter nodded as Dean again emphasized, "Together." The waiter responded with a nod, and went on to successfully avoid my gaze as he asked for our drink orders.

Once received, he hastily bee lined his way back to the kitchen.

"Um…" Dean cocked his eyebrow at our interactions, and I shook my head. He probably didn't want to know.

Before anyone could say anything else about it, Greg took my chin into his big hand, gently urging me to face him. He leaned forward until we were nose-to-nose. I didn't move back, and he closed the distance between us, placing his lips tenderly against mine.

"I'm sorry," he said as he pulled back. "I had to make sure."

I nodded in understanding, giving him a small smile. He always used that as his method to make sure I was okay, and he had reason to. After dealing with Coleman and Leo on the same day, it was difficult to stay sane.

But, somehow, I was faring better than I would've imagined.

I halfway smiled. Maybe it was because of the two men in front of me?

Dean and John's faces were red, blatantly looking away from us, as if to give us space. I giggled, and Dean's eyes shifted to reach mine. Seeing the moment was over, he and John both looked back in the direction of our table. Their cheeks were still highly tinted, though, and it made them appear so innocent, so cute.

John coughed into his hand. "Do you think this Leo will come after you again?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. Just depends on how much he likes me."

Dean slammed his hand on the table with a loud bang, and a growl escaped through clenched teeth. "Like hell I'll let that happen," he hissed, and, somehow, I believed him.

Greg seemed surprised at Dean's intensity—hell, I was too—and instinctively reached under the table to seize my hand. Having only met them today, he didn't fully trust the Vesters, and I knew he would do whatever he thought necessary to protect me from any potential predators.

Dean calmed back down, and Greg released my hand, though patting it affectionately before fully departing. It was a cute gesture, and one I think I needed. So much has happened today, so many cruel, horrible things…

And that's where I stopped my train of thought. I came back into the present, and saw Greg turn his head in the direction of the diner's entrance. His eyes lit up, and I craned my neck to see over his broad shoulder.

"Ben!" Greg exclaimed in joy, and only then did I see the strawberry blond, shoulder length hair I attributed only to Ben. It was an odd hair color for a guy, but he pulled it off. He had a bit of temper at times, and didn't mind showing it off when he needed to. Just as Greg was protective of the people important to him, Ben was protective of Greg and only Greg.

Greg rushed out of the booth and Ben met him halfway. The former pulled the other into a fierce hug. Greg was the larger of the two, and Ben's head nestled comfortably into the nape of his neck.

The embrace ended, and Greg ignored the customers' curious stares as he grabbed Ben's hand, leading him to our booth.

I waved and greeted him. Ben still wasn't a huge fan of my general existence, and returned my wave with a small, pitiful wave of his own.

Eager, Greg faced our booth and gestured to Ben. "John, Dean, this is my boyfriend Ben. Ben, this is John and his son Dean."

Ben only gave a curt nod, and Dean and John barely stuttered out a greeting. They seemed very, very confused.

The couple hadn't seen each other in weeks, and I knew Greg was cherishing this moment with his lover. It didn't seem fair for Greg to stay with me only because he didn't fully trust the Vesters yet.

"Greg, why don't you skip out and go do something nice with Ben? I'm sure he'd like that."

Greg blinked like he hadn't thought of that. Keeping me alive overrode treating Ben to an expensive meal and luxury hotel room. But, now that the thought had entered his brain, I knew it wouldn't go away.

I pushed Greg backwards, and he moved only because he allowed himself to be moved. Damn him and his gigantic form. I shoved him harder. "I'll hold down the fort here. _Go."_

"But…" He seemed hesitant, and I gave him a stare down.

Greg finally relented, but he returned a sharp gaze of his own. I knew the look, all too well, and I nodded. For him, I'd stay out of trouble, just like he asked.

Ben seemed thoroughly pleased, and even offered a small smile as they left with arms linked.

Right as they began walking away, Greg immediately stopped to turn around, stomping back to our table. He pointed a long finger directly at my face. "And you _better_ eat your food while I'm gone."

Staring at the finger inches from my face, my surprise was obvious, and it took me a long moment of silence before I finally nodded in agreement.

Greg jerked a nod. "Good." He turned around to Ben, who now had a slightly sour look on his face, and linked their arms back together, walking him out of the diner.

Silence ensued, and it seemed to me that John and Dean hadn't even noticed the altercation. At least, not at a conscious level. Their faces had awkward expressions, as John sat still and Dean scratched at the back of his head.

He was still scratching awkwardly when he gathered the courage to speak. "So, uh, when Greg…um, you two, just now. How did…" He grunted in annoyance, and stopped to collect his thoughts. "Okay, I'm just gonna ask, and you don't have to answer if you don't wanna…What is your relationship with Greg?"

I knew why he was confused, and intentionally spoke as if the answer was obvious. "He's my best friend."  
"But y'all kissed."

I nodded. "It's just something we do."

Dean looked at me like I was an idiot, and I thought it was a good face for him. He had a great facial expression for sarcasm.

I responded to his astonishment by continuing, "If I'm having a bad day with…work, Greg leans in to kiss me. If I let him follow-through, that means I'm okay; if I pull away, I'm not."

Dean nodded, vague comprehension settling in.

"Ben and Greg have been together for three years now. Their love then is just as strong as it is now. At this rate, they'll be together forever."

"How did you two meet?" Dean asked.

"Me and Greg?" He nodded, and I looked down, prolonging the topic as I chipped off pieces of wood from the table's edge.

The waiter arrived then, quickly setting down our drinks.

I really wanted to say with a smirk, "Thanks, sugar," but sealed my lips before it could escape. I didn't want to appear too uncivilized in front of the Dean and John.

The waiter stuttered, pointedly avoiding my gaze. "W-What would you all l-like to eat t-this morning?"

Morning? I looked at a clock on the wall. Jeez, he was right. My hours with Coleman had felt like an eternity, and the passage of time only confirmed it. It was almost five in the morning.

"Grilled chicken salad for me…Jimmy," I finished as I read his nametag. He'd never told me his name before, so that means I win, right?

His face flushed red, and I handed him the menu with a big smile. His fingers grazed mine when he reached for it, and he jerked back like he was burned.

"A-And you two?" he asked, immediately turning his back to me to face the Vesters.

Dean ordered a "double cheeseburger with extra onions, no pickles, and a side of fries," and John got a hickory sandwich.

"Do you two know each other?" Dean asked as the waiter scurried away, curiosity finally getting the better of him.

"I guess you could say that," I said, and, when I didn't continue, Dean fell silent, leaving it at that.

My first encounter with Greg wasn't brought up again, and we remained silent until the waiter came back with our food.

I nibbled on my lettuce—what Greg very often snarkily called "rabbit food"—and began my query. "So, uh. How is your investigation on Tony and Jake's deaths going?"

Dean made a face like he had no idea what I was talking about, then shaped his lips in a wide, "o", like he'd completely forgotten about it.

These guys were supposed to be cops, right?

"Uh, as of now, we haven't made too much progress…" John said as he awkwardly scratched his forehead.

Dean held his hands up, expression enthusiastic. " _But,_ since Sammy here knew them, maybe we could get some clues."

I gave him an annoyed glare. "My name's Sam."

"Sam. Sammy. Same thing."

I grimaced, and John continued. "Do the two victims have any particularly bad qualities that would lead to others hating them?"

I wanted to help these two cops, I really did, but now I wished I hadn't brought it up. In fact, bringing it up just made me a total dumbass.

There was nothing to distract me from answering this question and I really didn't want to admit to something like this.

"Well, both Tony and Jack are known for...uh, gang-raping boys," I said vaguely.

John nodded, eagerly listening to my every word. "Do you happen to know any of their victims?"

I swallowed, barely nodding. Fuck, how embarrassing. Having to admit something like this…really, really sucked. "I, uhh. Yeah, I do. I was…uh." I awkwardly pushed my bangs out of my face, scratching my forehead. "I-I was one of them."

I heard a sharp inhale of breath, but I didn't look up. It wasn't something I wanted to see.

"God, I…" Dean was struggling for words. "Fuck, Sammy, I'm so sorry…that….that must have been fucking horrible."

It could've been worse. The aftermath of my assault was Greg finding me on the floor and cradling me to his chest, crying over my broken body. He carried me the three miles to his and his family's house, cleaning me and feeding me until I was willing to leave the bed.

I shook away the memory, and gave a fake chuckle. "I don't know how much that information would help you, though, because I can promise it wasn't me that killed them."

John shook his head, muttering, "It's fine, you're fine," but I could tell he was already gone. He appeared pensive, and I could almost watch his brain frantically searching for a solution. I could only assume he and his son had gathered more information before me, and now was organizing it all into its perspective classification. I didn't doubt he was extremely thorough, nor did I doubt he was one hell of a cop.

Dean glanced at his father and snickered. "I think he's going to stay in that comatose state for a while."

I smiled in response, admiring the man's lost expression.

Dean clacked his tongue, turning to me. "Alrighty then, while he's busy with important matters, why don't you tell me something interesting about yourself."

Surprised, I cocked my head, and blood swiftly rushed to Dean's cheeks. "I—I mean, not in a _weird_ way or anything, just…you know…normal."

I skeptically nodded my head, uncertain. Are all regular people like this? Maybe my upbringing and lifestyle made me less interested in trivial things like someone's worst school subject or favorite color. I was less prone to ignorant questions.

Or, maybe…Dean really just wanted to know me better?

I swallowed audibly. In this situation...what should I do? The Vesters saved me, and I owed them my life; it was only fair that they knew about the person they risked their lives to rescue. But, was this something I could share? I didn't want them to hate me, to judge me for my past faults. When I finally left this town to start my life over, would these things be something I'd willingly discuss with my new friends and coworkers? Would I be able to even scratch the surface of my inner turmoil without breaking?

Dean was still watching expectantly, eyes glowing with curiosity.

What the hell should I say?

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Alas, the end of Chapter 5! :D Again, I’d like to emphasize regardless of traffic I will indeed continue and finish this story. That being said, a little incentive never hurts if anyone desires to leave a few kind words. :3**

**Thank you all for reading! Until next time!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Commence Chapter 6!**

**XxXxxxXxX**

For now, I'd play it safe. Dean was a great guy, and I really did like him but, if he started to hate me because of something I could have avoided saying…I'd never forgive myself. "I don't, uh…There's really nothing interesting about me."

"Ah, come on, you can think of _something."_

In all honesty, I _wasn't_ interesting. In fact, I was probably the most boring person in existence. Sometimes I didn't even know how Greg could stand being around me. He was always so happy and animated, but I could never share his enthusiasm. It was like there was always a weight pulling me down, and it took all my strength just to stay standing.

"Greg's been my best friend for four years." I'd determined there was nothing interesting about me, but I could talk about Greg all day. "He's twenty-two and two hundred thirty pounds of pure muscle." I chuckled lightly to myself. "He is strong as hell, but he never uses it unless it's to protect someone he loves." I was an exception. When we first met, we were complete strangers, yet, he endangered his own life…just to save me.

At the time, I'd been walking home from giving another blowjob. I ran into a group of guys who started harassing me, and were so drunk they mistook me for a girl. They kept pulling at my "skirt"—which was actually a pair of jeans—and Greg suddenly showed up. He was like a hurricane, violent and tempestuous, and yanked them off me, throwing punches with such tremendous strength I couldn't help but be mesmerized.

When all five of them were knocked unconscious, Greg had knelt down beside me, holding out a hand that was nearly the size of my head. His eyes were staring intensely into my own, and his voice was sweet like honey. The first words he ever spoke to me were said with both concern and passion. He had the smallest of smiles on his face, and I remember my bewilderment at being faced with such a gentle nature, completely opposite to the furious rage I'd just witnessed.

His hand had landed pacifyingly on my hair. "Wow, no wonder they were after you. You're a real beauty, you know that?"

Only a few months later, we'd met as employees at The Ramrod. He'd joined a week before I showed up, and ever since I walked into that door looking for a job he's been my friend and confidant. He took me under his wing, and vigilantly watched over me as I dealt with the horrors that came with working in a gay strip club. He was as overprotective then as now, and has beaten up numerous customers over the years solely for my sake.

I've always been independent but, when I couldn't do something on my own, the only person I went to was Greg.

I looked up from my gaze at the table, and Dean was staring at me with a completely entranced expression, visibly absorbed. It was then I realized I'd spoken my thoughts aloud. My cheeks tinted horribly, and I let my bangs fall into my face.

"Ha ha…" I chuckled awkwardly. "Oops. Didn't, uh, didn't really mean to say that out loud."

There was silence for a moment, like Dean was trying to force himself out of his fixated state. I peeked at him through my bangs, and Dean became fully animated again, shaking his head in refuse like a frantic dog. "No, Sammy, no; I _like_ to hear about your life. I want to know more about you, so, so please…" It was Dean's cheeks that turned red this time. "Tell me more."

Other than Greg, and maybe-possibly Barney the bartender, no existing person in this world ever showed genuine concern toward my well-being. Sure, they hoped I wouldn't die so they'd have a chance to do me, but that could hardly be classified as sincere concern. I had convinced myself that each individual was predestined only so many friends, and I, the sorriest of them all, was only allowed one.

But, maybe I was wrong?

I twirled some of my salad around on my fork, and tentatively said, "Well…I had a little brother."

I could tell it took Dean a second to notice the past tense, and his face immediately fell. "What, uh, what happened to him?"

I kept my gaze down. "He was nine when he and my father were killed in a car accident." I was eleven.

Dean's expression only grew sadder. "I'm sorry."

I didn't mention anything about my mother, but the tense silence hinted something fatal that I knew I couldn't put into words. I felt Dean's probing, curious eyes and ignored them. He wanted to know, but was too considerate to bluntly ask. I wasn't ready to explain that one yet, wasn't ready to admit she had slit her own wrists with the kitchen knife a year after my father and brother died.

That had been the real turning point in my life. Once she was dead, everything had changed. I didn't have to care for a psychotic mother, but I still had to care for myself. I unsuccessfully searched for a local business to hire me, and lived day-by-day with meager portions and tattered clothing. Each employer I talked to said I was too young and inexperienced to work. I begged and pleaded, even gave more blowjobs just so they would hire me.

But I was fooled and, after long weeks of futility, I finally found my own job. I threw away my pride, and began whoring myself out to the sleaziest perverts I could find. My mother's death had begun the worst period of my life.

And it's yet to end.

Dean wanted to know more about my life but, something told me that wasn't one of the key points he'd be searching for.

Thankfully, the silence was broken by John, who visibly removed himself from his thoughts to turn his gaze toward me. The clarity in his eyes was a sharp contrast to the moments-ago dazed look.

"I have a question for you," John said, bluntly continuing. "Is your last name Martin?"

I blinked. "Yeah…"

He took a deep breath. "Did a man named Daryl Woods ever…rape you?"

My mouth went dry, and I could only stare, dumbfounded. How did he…?

Dean punched John's shoulder fiercely, eyes burning. "What the _fuck,_ Dad?"

John's gaze didn't leave mine as he addressed Dean. "This is important to the investigation, son." Now he spoke to me. "Sam, is it safe for me to assume your silence is a 'yes'?"

I swallowed convulsively, barely nodding.

"Okay," John said. "Tell us everything that happened."

My mouth fell open, and I was about to get out of the booth and leave when Dean's hand reached across the table. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, lightly keeping me in place.

"Dad…" he said, but his gaze was only on me. "Maybe I should do the talking."

John's eyes flew to Dean's in surprise, and even my now slightly muddled mind could see the barely concealed anger in his expression, as though his actions had never been questioned until now.

After only obstinate silence from Dean, John reluctantly nodded, holding his hands out to Dean, like saying _it's all yours._

Dean took a deep breath, and his green eyes bored into my own. "Sammy, I know it's hard, but…this can really help our investigation. People could stop dying. So…" he licked his lips. "Can you please tell us what happened?"

He was basically asking the same thing John had been, but…but somehow I was more willing now. Maybe the father had just spoken so brusquely about it, like it wasn't a tragedy, but a piece of evidence he needed to solve his mystery. I didn't like people pitying me, but I didn't appreciate being treated as a tool like with my customers; I wanted to be genuinely _needed._

I licked my lips, silent. Daryl Woods was a man I had tried so many years to forget. He was the one that took my virginity five years ago. I'd been twelve at the time, and I could still remember listening to the haughty adults whispering about the scandal, immersing themselves in the newly discovered drama. The rumors spread like a virus through the town, and I remember picking up a local newspaper with my face and Daryl's on the front page. "Child found naked and battered behind a local gas station, tested positive for rape." After reading that, I had barely made it to a trashcan before emptying my stomach. To realize my horror story had been publicized…

And I'd known who was the cause of it, too.

But I couldn't blame her too much for it. Around that time, my mother had been severely mentally ill, suffering from chronic depression and so many other things I couldn't understand. I'd convinced myself she didn't know what she was doing, that she didn't know what kind of effect it'd have on me…

"Uh…" I began dumbly. "Well, first of all, this was a really long time ago. Five years ago."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve."

A moment passed, then Dean exclaimed. "What the hell? You're _seventeen?"_

I cocked an eyebrow, surprised at the outcry.

"Holy _fuck,"_ Dean continued, and John put a strong hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

"Pull yourself together, Dean; we're on the job."

I watched Dean forcibly control himself. "I'm…I…fuck." He took a breath. "Sorry."

I nodded, though I didn't think he had a reason to apologize. I continued my story. "I was walking home late at night after," I stopped. "Things..." I hadn't begun genuinely whoring myself out until I was thirteen, after my mother's death, but I still gave guys blowjobs. Once my dad and brother died, Mother lost the ability to work, and it was up to me to provide for her and keep us afloat.

I took a deep breath, continuing, "Daryl jumped out from behind a gas station pump. The streets were empty, so there was no one there to…" _Save me,_ I wanted to say. No one was there to _save me._

If Daryl hadn't existed, I wonder if my life would've turned out different.

"After he….did things to me, he just left. Fuck, there was blood everywhere. I…" I crushed my eyes with my fingers. "It was so horrible. Eventually, Coleman passed by and found me. That was the first time I'd met him." After he comforted me and told me everything would be okay, he talked about The Ramrod, how I would do really well and get lots of money by working there. Coleman wasn't manager then, but he told me he was a regular customer, and was desperate to see me in "something sexy".

I declined then, but it was around that time I realized I could do much more than blowjobs to earn money.

Dean swallowed, his skin an almost sickly green. He looked disturbed, and as angry as I'd ever seen him. "What happened after? What…what did he do?"

I shrugged, looking away. "He left." I wish that was all he'd done, but it turned out that Coleman became the second person for me to ever have sex with. After he finished, he threw several hundred-dollar bills onto my naked body and walked out of sight. My body was shaking and spastic, drowned in other men's semen, and my own, as well. I was savaged, broken, filthy to the core.

But, as I had stared down at all the money I'd received, holding it in my quivering hands as though it were a sacred jewel, I realized just how much my life could change with this. At that time, I could think of rape as nothing but a blessing.

I finally removed myself from my thoughts, and looked to Dean, who seemed to read something in my lost, distant expression. His gaze only grew colder, angrier, and a shiver raced down my spine.

John nodded, constantly absorbing and analyzing. "And you said Tony and Jake raped you, too. Can you please explain the instance as thoroughly as possible? Anything you give us could be helpful to our investigation."

His mind really was gifted in investigation. His insensitive nature was kind of depressing, but it wasn't something I hadn't been confronted with before. I understood that lots of people couldn't outwardly portray their emotions, or truly say what they wanted to say because of their inherently harsh nature.

And John was one of those people.

"I had been closing up The Ramrod."

"What time?"

I paused in thought. "Maybe 5 in the morning, give or take an hour. They jumped me from behind while I was sweeping under the tables." A very vulnerable position, indeed, with my torso hunched over and ass sticking out. I paused again, scratching my ear. "I guess you can kind of assume what happened from there."

They could have hundreds of visuals in their heads on what happened, but they would never understand. The emotions that came with being raped: fear, shame, hatred. It was a never-ending cycle of pain.

Dean's voice sounded aggrieved, but I didn't look up when he spoke. "D-Did someone finally find you?"

I nodded. "Coleman did. He…" My eyebrows furrowed. "He was…he was so angry."

John mused. "Just like with that man today."

Hudson. I nodded absently. I hadn't realized the connection, but yeah, Coleman truly was very possessive of me, frighteningly so.

"Is there anything else that stands out in your mind when you recall them hurting you?"

After a pregnant pause, I shook my head. Again, I was a bit annoyed with his bluntness, and his complete uncaring nature toward such a delicate matter. I recognized that John's seemingly apathetic attitude was probably just the way he was, but I wished he wouldn't appear _this_ heartless.

John put a hand to his chin, gaze distant as he thought through the newly acquired information. "For each instance you've discussed, Coleman appears." Another pause, and his speech became more abstracted, like he was just thinking through it, and not actually talking to anyone. "I'm beginning to wonder if this is really our kind of hunt…"

I didn't understand what he meant by that—hunt? Like hunt for the bad guy—, but Dean was immediately on the defensive, turning fully toward his father in both surprise and indignation. _"What?_ What the fuck, Dad? That doesn't fucking _matter_." His voice became a harsh whisper, and I felt a bit awkward still being able to hear it. "We are _ending_ this, whether it's like our usual gigs or not. We _are_ going to save Sam from this. Got it?"

After some hesitation, John finally nodded. He didn't seem too pleased but, at that moment, he was in agreement. He backtracked to the previous topic. "Focus, Dean. All I'm saying is that _Coleman_ appears to be the suspicious one in this scenario."

I just listened with a probably very obvious look of confusion. If the guilty party was _not_ Coleman, then…did that make it their "usual gig"?

What kind of cops were these two?

Dean nodded stubbornly, his gaze still blazing with inner fury. It took him a moment, but eventually calmed down, and got back to the task at hand. "Coleman does seem to show up an awful lot."

I didn't outwardly react, but I still didn't understand the connection. Just because Coleman showed up after my assaults didn't mean he was a killer. Besides, I couldn't imagine Coleman having the guts to kill anyone.

But, then again, I've only seen one side of him, and that was the sexual side. If he had the ability or motive to kill people, I wouldn't have a clue. Either way, I'd leave it to the Vesters for that part of the investigation. They were the experts, not me.

A thought came to my mind, and I blinked dumbly. "How…How did you know about Daryl Woods?"

"We found some newspaper articles about him."

I blinked again. Articles? But there was only one…

"What…?"

"One about how he…" Dean paused, eyes dark, "Hurt you, then another announcing his death."

My eyes nearly burst from their sockets. "Daryl's _dead?"_

Dean nodded grimly. "He was murdered a few weeks before Jake Howard and Tony Paulo's deaths."

I sat back in my seat in the booth, crossing my arms over my chest. "Well, either way, the notion that Coleman killed Daryl for raping me wouldn't fit. He wasn't there, so he couldn't have known what the guy looked like. When he found me, Daryl was already gone."

Dean's words were strong, and his finger tapped against the table as he spoke. "But maybe he's been looking for clues about that bastard all these years, and finally found him. Maybe that fucker Coleman just wants to keep you for himself."

I didn't argue, but I still didn't want to believe it. Coleman knew I was a prostitute, and all my regulars were still alive. The only people that were dead were the ones that raped me so, until I found some sort of connection, I couldn't believe it.

Suddenly, my curiosity grew. "How'd he die?"

"Blood loss. His dick was chopped off."

My eyes widened. Well, fuck.

Then my eyebrows furrowed. In the newspaper, it said Tony and Jake died the same way…

My eyes widened.

Well fuck. That was the connection I was looking for.

XxXxXxX

Eventually, Jimmy the waiter reappeared at our booth. My face was grim and peeved, annoyed with the potential Coleman's-a-killer revelation, but I don't think he noticed. He was fervently ignoring me, his sole focus on Dean and John.

With shaking hands, Jimmy held out the check, his cheeks strangely red, and Dean brusquely clipped it from his hands, reading it over. Mission accomplished, Jimmy immediately turned and scurried away, retreating back into the kitchen.

Dean looked at it for a moment, both eyebrows raised in astonishment. I watched him with momentary confusion. Were the meals really that expensive?

Then he handed me the slip of paper, and I eyed it questioningly.

Below the total cost was a phone number written in black ink. Below that it stated it was "for the kid."

My cheeks reddened. "Uh…" I guess Jimmy the sex fiend wanted a more convenient method of getting together. We only met when we bumped into each other on the streets, and I bet there were multiple times Jimmy went looking but didn't find.

I ripped off the bottom portion of the receipt, giving the rest to Dean.

Dean looked at me in astonishment. "Do…do you really intend to call him?" He eyed me strangely, and maybe a little disappointedly. "Do you actually think that's a good idea, Sam?"

I was surprised by that and, if I was being honest with myself, kind of hurt. There had been countless times I've been ridiculed or harassed for leading the life I did, but I didn't think I could take it if it came from Dean.

I stuffed the paper in my back pocket, and evenly met Dean's gaze. I folded my arms together on the table, my appearance nonchalant. "I have sex, Dean, for money. While you're out being moral, saving lives and putting criminals behind bars, I let men fuck me on any hard surface they can shove me against."

Saying it out loud...I hated putting into words what I did at night. It was disgusting, and it was hard, but I had to do it, I had to. When I was thirteen and looking for a job, the only one that'd accept me was The Ramrod. I wasn't allowed to work full-time because of my age, and could only do a few hours a week. The small pay wasn't enough for me to survive on, so I started working the streets. Now, five years later, no one in town wanted me because they all knew what I did and who I was; they knew the real me. With my name forever sullied, the rest of the world turned it's back on me.

Except Greg. In reality, if he hadn't been there for me back then, I would've killed myself a long time ago.

I continued with an accepting sigh. This was my life, and I'd deal with it. "The more clients I get the better chance I have of getting out of here."

Dean seemed unconvinced with my answer, and spoke rationally in disagreement. "But haven't you accumulated a lot of money over the years? With both The Ramrod and…prostitution, surely you've gathered a fair amount—."

"Dean." My eyes pierced him like a flurry of nails. Realistically, I understood where he was coming from. He wanted me to know I didn't have to keep doing this; he was desperate for me to understand.

He was the one that didn't fucking understand.

"You still don't _get it,"_ I hissed. "There's no safe place in this town I can keep my money. Do you know where I live, Dean? Every single thing I own is sitting under a makeshift tent in a dark alley surrounded by lowly people just as desperate as I am.

This is my fifth home; all the others have been discovered and I keep _losing my money._ Fuckers keep _stealing it."_ Even worse than losing my money would be losing my mind. Every night I hoped to see morning, that when I woke up I wouldn't be chained to someone else's bed because they found my hiding spot. I had unbearable phobias and, if one was breached, I wasn't sure what the outcome would be, or if my sanity would remain intact.

I was breathing fairly hard now, and, deep down, I felt embarrassed. I was letting my emotions rule me, and it was defacing my sense of control. I couldn't let this continue the way it was. I liked the Vesters; fuck, I liked them a lot. I didn't want to lose them to this.

Dean spoke first, though, and his expression had changed from desperate to so earnest and pained that I already regretted my outburst. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I—Fuck, I was out-of-line. I should've known better." He put a hand over his face, and I reached over the table to remove it, revealing his pained green eyes.

"No, Dean. I should be the one that's apologizing. I just…got a little carried away."

Dean said nothing, only kept that sad, defeated look on his face, like this latest jab was beyond recoverable.

I understood the feeling, and sat in silence, occasionally glimpsing at the Vesters. Even the big, tough, indestructible John seemed miserable.

I tried to think of something to cheer them up, but stopped when I remembered my stupid sense of humor. What I thought was funny and what they thought was funny were both in entirely different ballparks.

For instance, ridiculing poor Jimmy the waiter was funny as hell.

Though, my sense of humor was a bit off at the moment, and I voted against doing anything to him when he eventually came back for the check. Dean fumbled for his wallet, hastily paying for it in cash.

"Keep the change," he said, flashing a smile so fake no one in a ten-mile radius could have believed it. Jimmy nodded awkwardly, gulping. He looked down at receipt then, and appeared very pleased to see part of the check was ripped off.

When Dean noticed the look, his fake smile vanished like it had never been. We exited the diner, John leading and Dean trailing in the back. It felt oddly protective of them, and we made our way outside. The sun was coming up now, a beam of light slowing driving away the dark abyss.

And wasn't that what Dean and John were doing for me?

I kind of smiled at that, and we stood peacefully outside the diner, me sandwiched between two powerful, overprotective Vesters.

"Sam…" I turned to Dean, who was scratching the back of his head, facial expression nervous and unsure. "I, uh, I know you probably wouldn't want to, with your phobias and what-not, but I don't feel right letting you go back to your, uh…'home'." He looked awkward, and I felt sort of bad for him. "So, do you wanna…" He swallowed loudly. "Just…come with us?"

I stared at him for a moment, deciphering his words. "Come with us", as in…come to their _home?_ To their house, which undoubtedly would consist of a bedroom, which consequently had at least one bed. And since their cops, they'd probably have handcuffs lying around somewhere…

My heart beat loudly, pattering heavily against my chest. In my whole life, I'd entered three houses…My own, Greg's, and Coleman's. Did I want to chance a fourth? Was I strong enough, brave enough to attempt such a task? Could I do it?

Without my own consent, my head dipped down, my feet moving forward until they stood beside Dean.

Dean seemed relieved, and he and John led me to their nice-looking, jet-black car. My legs were shaking violently, and I barely managed to get into the vehicle, closing the door behind me. I had an apprehension for cars, but I had an even bigger one for entering someone's house.

We drove several miles until I watched as we turned into the parking lot of a small, rundown motel. It was shaggy and not in the best of shape. Were cop salaries so insignificant that this was the best they could afford?

Well that wasn't fucking fair.

My thoughts shifted more toward trepidation as both Vesters exited the vehicle. Shakily, my hand opened my own door, closing it behind me.

Dean noticed my hesitation, smiling encouragingly. "It's okay, Sammy, we're not bad guys. We wouldn't ever hurt you."

I swallowed. "M-my name's…Sam." I tried to appear annoyed, but was probably too scared shitless to properly pull it off.

John opened the door and entered, followed by Dean. I took my time in reaching the doorway, hesitantly peeking my head into the room. It was small and confining, the space only consisting of a small TV, two full beds, a wooden dresser, small kitchen area, and a door that led to what I presumed was a bathroom. It certainly contained the necessities, but I wondered how these two Vesters could willingly live in something like this. They worked hard and saved lives, and this was the thanks they received?

It kind of pissed me off.

Besides the bare necessities were newspaper articles pinned on nearly every available surface in the room. Reading the large font of the headlines, I could see they were about murder cases.

Seeing a familiar headline, I stepped forward, eying it curiously as I read, "Child found naked and battered behind a local gas station, tested positive for rape."

I swallowed, the sudden lump in my throat painful and uncomfortable. So this was the newspaper article Dean and John had used to discover I was raped by Daryl Woods.

Well, they were certainly thorough.

Mercifully, the article didn't bother me as much as I would've expected, and I entered the room with little fright. While there were two closed duffel bags with contents unknown, I was now more convinced that Dean and John were truly who they said they were. They lived meager lives, were protectors of the people, and I respected them for their loyalty.

Dean seemed pleased at my progress, and plopped down on the farthest bed, the springs bouncing noisily in response. John wandered to the other bed, flipping through channels on the small television screen.

I eyed the rest of the room curiously, kind of grateful the Vesters were currently ignoring me. I was still couldn't help but be a bit jittery. I trusted them, I truly did, but that didn't mean I liked being in someone else's home.

Thankfully, even after closer inspection, there were no handcuffs in sight. Slightly more relaxed, I went to sit beside Dean on the bed. I scooted my butt, backing up until my head rested against the headboard.

Gods, it'd been so fucking long since I've been on a bed, particularly one not covered in semen.

I couldn't help the hum of pleasure that escaped my lips as my fingers ran through the material of the bed sheets. They were thin, and contained mysterious discoloration, but it was so much better than anything I'd owned, and I was a little jealous.

Dean watched me with a sad expression, then said, "It's pretty early in the day, and you haven't slept in a while. You can rest up here as long as you need." Dean's cheeks reddened, and he looked away, gaze down. "Uh, that is, if you trust us enough to sleep here."

I paused for a moment in consideration. I really was tired. Being knocked unconscious from suffocation wasn't as favorable as intentional slumber, and Coleman had been really rough. My fingers fiddled with the bed sheets again, and a small smile crept onto my face without my consent. How great it'd feel to snuggle under these covers. Maybe a quick catnap wouldn't be too harmful for my health.

I shifted my body, sliding under the bed sheets until they rested on top of me. I turned myself onto my side, and my head situated itself onto a pillow, the lump hard as granite. Fuck, it was amazing.

"Good night," I said sleepily, and I knew Dean was silently howling in delight behind me.

"Night, Sammy," I heard Dean say as he resituated himself, the bed rocking slightly.

I was beginning to dwindle off into unconsciousness, but the intrinsic, "It's Sam," passed my lips, my voice no louder than a muffled whisper. I heard an amused laugh behind me, and that was the last thing that registered before I entered the void of unconsciousness.

**XxXxXxX**

**Thank you all for reading! ^_^ One more chapter before this story is complete! Sequel likely to come. :)**


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